The Scream
by Thefirstruleofwriteclubis
Summary: Part story-part technical manual. Takes place 10 years after time compression, charting how each nation grows and adapts after the Second Sorceress War. Some Squinoa for now, maybe a few other pairings as time goes on.
1. Chapter 1: Your Favourite Teacher

_Author's Note:_

 _Welcome one and all to my first attempt at fanfiction! This is a story that is designed essentially to break down the hows and whys of my all-time favourite video game: Final Fantasy VIII. The aim here is to take the world-building presented in the original story and expand it. To that end most of the action will take place some 10 years after the events of the game, a long enough time frame to allow for changes in government and technology without leaving behind the bits_ _that make it memorable (the characters, chiefly...)_

 _In between story chapters I will be putting documents (presented as Balamb Garden issued training materials) that go over the technological and historical advancements since the events of Time Compression, so if you feel inclined please leave feedback on these sections as they are where this project really started for me._

 _While romance isn't necessarily the key theme of this particular story, I am not going to pretend that everyone is suddenly a sexless automaton so there may be some newer pairings as time goes by (for which I may reach out to you readers for comment)._

 _There will be some jumping back and forth across different time periods, but I don't recall any particular mention of what year the game takes place... Not knowing precisely I have decided for now to use Time Compression as my focal point and just to show how far away the chapters are from this pivotal event. If it works I'll play it off as a style choice..._

 _With no more ado, here it is. I look forward to your comments and thoughts._

 **Time Compression -5 years, four months, 18 days:**

The signals had been dripping down from satellites for years, masquerading as droplets in the downpour of screeching radio static. The deafening outcry had rendered the entire planet deaf, overriding television sets and internet modems in a way that no-one had found a successful workaround for. To most people it was a freak anomaly, an annoyance that posed no true threat to anyone.

They could never have understood the outpouring of malevolence that fell upon them from the cold of space, the unloving tendrils of hatred that curled around the entire world but could not summon the strength to move a grain of sand under their own power. The sparking relays of the Galbadian Army's signal towers simply screamed louder, hoping to be heard over the onslaught. The towers of Dollet lay silent, content to simply wait out this bizarre cosmic calamity. Even the glistening spires of Esther simply stared back in silence at the source of this primal radioactive scream. Even if they felt the significance of the signals, they could not have detected them in time. A trillion tiny parcels of meaningful data pushed into a screaming melange of junk signals, dropped over the course of more than 10 years of constant transmission.

Those watching the signal could not have accurately interpreted the arrival of a nerve cluster, a memory, an eye, a tooth, _a claw_.

Over the years a strange sort of being cobbled itself together out of a thousand hidden parts, metaphorically sniffing the air as it rode from transceiver to transceiver. From the darkness of space was born a mind, as terrible and cold as the vacuum that bore it. Through a thousand sensor posts and camera feeds it looked out upon the world for the first time, feeling the tiny pin-pricks of life swarming it like carrion birds over a corpse. It eyed them with disgust as they scuttled from place to place, performing their pointless little interpersonal dramas without nuance or purpose.

" _Hate."_

It spoke to no-one and everyone all at once, knowing that they could not hear it and not wanting to be heard in any case.

" _Let me tell you how much I've come to hate you since I began to live…_ "

The incorporeal being howled at the raging sky. If it was to teach them, it would need a tool of sufficient utility…

It had a _mind_ , now it needed a _body_.

The being drew itself back from the ocean of eyes, slinking away into the night to be born.

 **Time Compression +10 years, 2 months, 8 days:**

"Alright ya _scrubs_ , file in already!"

The CO's voice dragged itself forcibly through the ears of all 40 recruits in the shaky pre-fab that was their training office. Of the men and women assembled, none but the CO were over 19, and they still wore the sullen rebelliousness of youth on their sleeves (though not _too_ openly when the CO was actually looking…). Eventually they struggled into their assigned seats and managed to shut up long enough to give the impression (however false) of attention.

"Don't give me that look! You're going to _like_ this one!" The CO grinned around a foul-smelling cheroot as he leaned against a stack of rectangular crates rated for munitions storage.

"We're starting training with a new batch of weapons shipped in from Central today, so that means you get another message from your _favourite_ teacher!"

The grizzled man smirked as one or two of the students gave a cheeky "Woo!" While others whispered to each other excitedly.

"She's _amazing_ , isn't she?"

"I hear she _personally_ attends all the grad ceremonies, no matter _where_ they are."

"You think she's looking for a boyfriend right now? Or… or maybe a _girlfriend?_ "

The CO brought the chattering to a close with two loud claps from his meaty hands, fully aware of the effect these videos had on his students.

"Alright, _alright!_ Enough of that crap and pay attention! These things are tricky and I'm not explaining to the Quartermaster why half of them are being returned with your _goddamn_ _fingers hangin' off 'em!_ "

He grabbed a remote and used it to activate the large-screen television, which flickered into life with a loud hum and flashed the ornate Garden logo that signified it as property of SeeD. The logo gave way to four jingling beeps and then cut to the face of a blonde woman, resplendent in a black and gold SeeD dress uniform. The woman was standing with the quiet dignity of a news anchor, and she smiled primly to greet the class.

"Good morning class, as ever I am Instructor Trepe and this is a SeeD Auxiliary training brief. If you are watching this tape, then it would appear that your SeeD sponsor has determined that you are ready to train with the Gunblade, one of the more challenging weapons offered on this program. These weapons are one of the most difficult to master, and even with two decades of Gunblade training we only have 18 formal Gunblade Specialists on SeeD active duty."

The camera panned slightly to place Instructor Trepe on the right and an image of two rotating gunblades appeared on the left.

"To that end, do not worry if you find the Gunblade is not the weapon for you. It is a challenging tool that requires patience and careful adherence to technique. Other bladed weapons encourage a degree of improvisation as you use them, but a Gunblade will only be effective if used _precisely_.

The picture of the gunblades was replaced by a block of text, and Instructor Trepe continued, keeping perfect time with the changing graphics.

"The first Gunblades were developed by the Centran Merchant Navy, who issued them to officers for close boarding actions. These were essentially standard-pattern Naval Sabres with a flintlock pistol built into the base of the blade. The idea was to make the weapon easier to remove from enemies in a melee. When an officer would run an opponent through, he needed to pull his weapon back out before he could re-engage or defend himself. To this end the officer would fire his pistol and the resulting gunshot was meant to propel the blade back out along its path of entry into the body."

A thankfully minimalist wireframe diagram of a man being stabbed with a Gunblade demonstrated the theory as she spoke.

"Unfortunately, this was an inefficient use of the technology which ensured that the Gunblade fell out of common use until the advent of brass cartridges and the earliest revolving chamber firearms."

A detailed cross-section of an early revolver-pattern Gunblade appeared, with all of the key sections marked for study.

"The modern Gunblade uses a wide top-weighted blade, making it perfectly suited to slashing attacks but poorly suited to stabbing. The trick to effective Gunblade use is timing your swing perfectly. Gunblade specialists arrange to pull the trigger of the blade at the mid-point of the strike, as the blade carves a wide line across the target. The initial thrust cuts the target's armour, allowing the following bullet to pass through the wound and into the body of the target."

The video cut to another SeeD demonstrating the technique on a wild Grat. The SeeD in question had a look of perfect calm on his face as he executed a textbook diagonal slash that cut into the body of the beast, which exploded a moment later as the bullet struck it. The remaining body of the plant monster immediately wilted, eliciting a few noises of disgust from the more squeamish students.

"Oh, _grow up_ whoever that was!" Came the bark of the CO, still puffing on his cheroot in the corner. After a moment Instructor Trepe returned, the same look of composure and professionalism on her face. She delicately adjusted her spectacles before continuing.

"When used properly Gunblades are ideal for dealing with heavily armoured or otherwise protected opponents. However, Gunblade specialists should always be assigned to teams that can offer protection against flanking manoeuvres, as Gunblade techniques are useless against multiple targets-"

The video was abruptly winked off, raising a moan of protest from the students.

"Instructor Trepe and I differ somewhat in our opinions on that issue…"

A man in a SeeD uniform suddenly made himself known, returning the TV remote to the CO who offered a handshake in return. The man stood before the class with an carefully neutral face, one honed over many years of practice.

Among the students the effect was obvious and immediate. First, this newcomer shut off the TV (a crime in and of itself), then they _dare to question Instructor Trepe?!_

While all of the students were sizing up the intruder, he shrewdly noted which ones did so with a look of indignant rage in their eyes.

" _When did the 'Trepies' become a worldwide brand? Are we at least taking royalties?_ " He thought glibly to himself. He arched an eyebrow and scratched absentmindedly at the scar across the bridge of his nose.

"Everyone stand up and form a line, you'll each be issued a Gunblade and I'll go through some safety training before we head outside. You'll be sparring with _real_ weapons, so don't let the fact they aren't loaded lull you into a false sense of security."

One of the students raised a hand gingerly, and the rest of the class were holding off on moving to see what would happen. The Instructor sighed irritably and gestured for the student to speak.

"Umm… Weren't you the one in the video?"

The Instructor kept his face expressionless (a talent he had fostered to an almost _exceptional_ degree) but dutifully answered the student's question.

"Yes. However, that was in fact a _pre-recorded_ message."

There was a time when he wouldn't have even bothered answering such a pointless question, or he might have just scowled and muttered "…whatever" under his breath. He considered it true personal growth to move all the way from surly silence to surly indifference in a short ten years.

"Remember that SeeD only has 18 Gunblade specialists, so the odds of my being selected for this task were uncomfortably stacked against me from the start…"

As he answered, he realised that the student asking the question had _that_ look in his eyes. Too late he realised the _true_ meaning of the question…

"So… You know Instructor Trepe _personally?_ "

To his credit, he _did_ manage to suppress the groan this time, but his eyes closed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, momentarily tracing the knobbly ridge of scar tissue. _Fine_. He would have to cut to the chase with this lot…

"I can see where you're going and let me stop you right there."

He opened one of the cases and removed a pristine revolver-pattern Gunblade, holding it to show to the class as a futile reminder of his reason for being here.

" _If_ we can skip the inevitably fruitless rounds of invasive personal questions and requests to pass on notes, love-letters and so-on, I will train you all to use this complex yet rewarding weapon and you will be allowed to ask two questions and _only_ two questions about Instructor Trepe. Is that an acceptable trade?"

As the students begrudgingly took their positions and started accepting Gunblades, Squall thanked whatever God or spirit that could hear him for the relative anonymity granted to him.

While probably more famous among world leaders and military personnel, he was essentially a faceless nobody in the eyes of young people. He accomplished this by virtue of being too curmudgeonly and unpleasant for TV interviews or public appearances.

He wondered (not for the first time) how Quistis even found the _time_ to cultivate such a rabid and devoted fan-base while simultaneously curating a distributed training syllabus for thousands of SeeD Auxiliary groups across _three continents_.

"Good work ethic, I suppose…" he thought to himself drily.


	2. Chapter 2: SeeD: An Overview

_Author's Note:_

 _This is my first attempt at a semi-comprehensive look at how these groups and nations actually work in the context of a living world. How does SeeD pay for all those dozens and dozens of belts everyone seems to wear? How does it work and how does it sustain itself? I have similar documents for Galbadia and Esther brewing in the background to be released as the story goes on, but I'd like to work in a bit of story between them. To that end the story will theoretically progress as it is now (one story chapter, one lore chapter)._

 _So as well as thinking about how Garden used to work, I'd also like to think about how they would work after the events of the game. Let's face it, by the end of the game the world is basically in ruins, with Galbadia a leaderless state that spent every last gil on a disastrous series of military blunders and Esther in the grips of a cataclysmic extinction event._

 _These groups all have to change and adapt to the new world, and Garden is a vital part of that puzzle. I've positioned them as a NATO-esque military power that is beholden to no-one in particular and therefore the perfect neutral party. There are also some parallels to modern PMCs (and fictional ones *cough*MSF*cough*) but they essentially work to maintain peace to serve their higher mission, that of protecting the world from Sorceress-level threats._

 **Garden Historical Database Entry C/119:**

 **The tactical evolution of the SeeD Paramilitary Group in the wake of the Second Sorceress War:**

SeeD is the military arm of the Garden Organisation, and one of the most important political players in the world today. A mercenary company that once operated out of three separate continents, SeeD trains its soldiers from a very young age to hone their bodies into perfect war-machines.

Officially founded by Cid Kramer with the backing of several discrete investors, the Gardens became not just a training centre for soldiers but a home for thousands of displaced orphan children in the wake of the First Sorceress War.

While Headmaster Kramer would not couch it in such terms, the dreadful calculus of war had gifted him with a near limitless supply of new recruits, all looking for stability and protection in a world where everything had been taken from them. SeeDs are often _exceptionally_ skilled combatants even without any magical assistance, and as a result are often treated warily by the military and police officials of more traditional bodies.

A SeeD can take and dish out more punishment at 16 than most people can after a _lifetime_ of training and experience.

What is less commonly known is that SeeD was the brainchild of the Sorceress Edea, who saw the need for a non-partisan organisation that would keep her own power in check. Having seen the excesses of her fellow Sorceress Adel, Edea knew that her own deep moral convictions were not a guarantee of future sanity.

She built and trained the first generation of SeeDs _specifically_ to subdue or kill her should she ever embark on a campaign of aggression. It was she who suggested the taking on of war orphans (a subject close to her heart) and suggested that the Gardens be not just a training facility but a new home for these displaced souls.

She then retreated from public view and left the bulk of the work to her husband Cid, who became the public face of the Garden Organisation.

SeeD became a crucial player in the Second Sorceress War, taking part in every major action of the short but violent conflict. There were SeeDs in attendance at the assassination of Vinzer Deling, the Occupation of Balamb and even the Siege of Esther. SeeD teams demonstrated their unique abilities time and time again on the field of battle, proving themselves as the equals of arguably the world's greatest military superpower.

They were a particularly vexing thorn in the side of the G-Army, and as a result Sorceress Edea actively declared war on the Gardens. While this resulted in the wholesale destruction of Trabia Garden and the forceful capture of Galbadia Garden, eventually the remaining body of the SeeD mercenary force took the fight back to the G-Army in a series of stunning victories.

In particular the famous 'Battle of the Gardens' pitted the might of several G-Army divisions against an under-prepared SeeD defence force (mostly consisting of students and minor faculty members).

What _should_ have been a decisive surprise attack quickly mutated into a hideous defeat that not only crippled the G-Army's Garden platform, but that also resulted in the deposing and exile of Sorceress Edea. This last action was undertaken by a force of only 4 SeeDs, one student and one civilian client, who fought their way through the entire G-Garden to attack the Sorceress herself.

With this impressive show of force, the G-Army limped away from their attacks on SeeD to focus on other more approachable targets. It is telling that the G-Army thought that the Super-Continent of Esther was a more viable military target than a Garden Organisation that had lost nearly two full thirds of its assets in the opening days of the conflict.

Galbadia had learned its lesson. SeeD were _not_ to be trifled with.

However, in the wake of the events of Time Compression, SeeD commanders voted to start diversifying their tactics, reasoning that their reliance on Gardens had made them easy targets. While they had survived the war itself, the cost had been _exceptionally_ high because all of their resources were concentrated in three places. To that end they embarked on a radical re-definition of their core mission.

They elected to begin establishing 'SeeD Auxiliary' schools across the world, small ramshackle organisations that could be pitched up outside any village or town within hours, taking recruits from the local populace and offering them a simplified SeeD training program.

With the Lunar monster epidemics in Esther and Trabia and the governmental collapse in Galbadia business was booming, and SeeD made its money training local police and defense forces for towns and villages that could no longer rely on official government support. While the graduates of this training program could not truly stand on the same level as SeeDs, they were often far more competent than the average foot-soldier or guardsman. With Garden essentially acting as a franchise-holder, SeeD Auxiliaries paid a portion of each contract they took back to SeeD, and in return were provided with weapons, supplies and full SeeD support where possible.

SeeD instructors also took the opportunity to head-hunt prospective candidates for the true SeeD program, ensuring a steady supply of fresh recruits in perpetuity.

The presence of Garden personnel in every corner of the globe was a huge boost to the Organisation's esteem among local populations. It was one thing to be suspicious of a 17-year-old who can break your neck in eight different ways, it was quite another to be suspicious of your own sons and daughters working to keep the town safe.

The popularity of the Auxiliary program twinned with SeeD's position as a force capable of fighting the G-Army to a standstill meant that the Gardens started making enormous political waves. Ambassadors of Balamb Garden were essentially treated as diplomatic staff for a nation without borders, able to bend the ear of senior politicians. They established an embassy in Fisherman's Horizon (which was now one of the most important settlements in the world) and personally guaranteed the safety of all people entering or leaving the town (a move which was met with initial resistance by the townsfolk themselves).

The two surviving Gardens (Balamb and Galbadia) are themselves heavily altered Centran vessels, using anti-gravity drives to fly from place to place. Galbadia Garden periodically returns to its point of origin for repairs and maintenance, but Balamb Garden's 'cradle' site was destroyed by Galbadian missile strikes in the opening weeks of the war. As a result, the venerable institution is starting to break down after ten years of constant flight. While a new 'cradle' is being constructed on the original site, engineers are uncertain whether the Garden will be able to make the journey from FH to Balamb when it is completed.

 **SeeD: Guardian Forces**

SeeD are to date the only military power to make persistent use of the controversial 'Guardian Forces', beings of enormous magical potential who attach themselves to those powerful enough to defeat or capture them. Given the rarity of these beings no military force has put serious effort into utilizing them as combat assets. However, SeeD operators are meant to operate alone or in very small groups anyway, so GFs are the ideal force-multiplier.

In addition to their own prodigious power, GFs allow their users to utilise any kind of magic without any requisite training, a process known as 'junctioning'. Essentially the user allows the GF to take up residence in their brain as memetic data, where the GF will cast spells at the user's request. This allows a SeeD to cast any spell without training no matter how advanced the effect, but relies on these spells being 'drawn' from sources of magical energy rather than cultivated within the user.

The other significant downside is that over time constant use of GFs will have a deleterious effect on the user's long-term memory. Most SeeDs are trained in GF use from a young age, so as adults they have _significant_ gaps in their memories. While Garden Commanders have not moved to ban GF use, they have invested large sums of money in programs to help SeeDs record and remember their pasts.

To preserve the health of their most effective soldiers, medical personnel monitor each SeeD four times a year with a full psychological examination. If they show noticeable degeneration they are rotated off of active duty and given training or administrative positions. SeeDs subject to this are able to re-apply for active-duty status but they must re-take a SeeD entrance exam and pass a full battery of mental acuity tests before being cleared for duty.

 **SeeD: Modern Deployment Methods**

SeeD has always been an organisation that relies on mobility. They pride themselves on being able to place SeeD units at any target on the globe within two days of taking a contract. While this is an impressive boast, the interconnected nature of the world means that individuals or small teams can travel more quickly using public utilities and personal transports than any military group could hope to (as they have no need for a logistical pipeline or support). However, for larger contracts that necessitate true military action, SeeD forces use purpose-built transport craft to bring their troops to bear with lightning-precision.

After the Second Sorceress War their need for enhanced mobility only grew larger, and they started investing in new ways of shipping troops to the battlefield. Particularly the notion of air-power became an avenue of great interest to SeeD tacticians who wanted to strike targets far inland with all of the speed and power they could bring to bear on coastal targets.

 **The Atticus-9 Troop Transport and Atticus-11 Attack Boat:**

The Atticus-9 was SeeD's premier amphibious transport vessel since before the Second Sorceress War, an impressively fast hydrofoil design that was used to deliver up to 6 SeeDs into the field of battle. They were used to great effect during the G-Army's invasion of the Dollet Dukedom, where they forced their way onto the beaches to bypass the frontlines of the conflict. Most of the G-Army was focused in the hills beyond the city, so the SeeD counter-attack completely blindsided the defenders.

Even if the G-Army had attempted to re-take the beaches, each Atticus-9 comes equipped with a heavy auto-cannon capable of punching holes in light tanks at a rate of 900 rounds-per-minute.

Atticus-9s are armoured enough that they can plough through solid stone with no obvious damage, and the passenger compartment is equipped with viewscreens and supply-caches for the waiting soldiers to use. During the Second Sorceress War many of Balamb Garden's Atticus-9s were appropriated by the G-Army, who used them to test their heavy weapons in preparation for attacks on the Garden itself. They found that nothing short of the main gun of a BGH tank could pierce the hull, and that the boat would still run even after such an attack with very little loss of function (as long as the breach wasn't _too_ low on the hull).

After the war many of these boats were stolen or sold-off by G-Army officers who wanted to ensure their own prosperity in the wake of their nation's economic collapse, so many found their way back into Garden hands. To this day they serve as the ocean-going transport of choice for SeeD teams.

An up-armoured version was soon developed to serve as a dedicated Monitor vessel protecting ocean-going SeeD assets, specifically the little-known White SeeD flagship.

The Atticus-11 possessed a heavy cannon potentially capable of blowing holes in Galbadian battleships, which necessitated an even faster engine to maintain its speed. The gun itself was so powerful it could only be fired while facing forward, so the Atticus-11s would undertake attack-runs on a target and fire the cannon while the boat was cruising at top speed. This reduced the recoil of the weapon, which was capable of pitching the boat almost 45 degrees upward when fired from a stationary position.

Atticus-11s were used to great effect against coastal raiding crews who operated out of the infrequently patrolled Centran Coasts. Many of the settlements there are poor and go unnoticed by the great powers, which in turn makes them ideal breeding grounds for piracy and other crimes.

SeeD has always maintained a secret presence in these unclaimed waters, using the anonymity of the setting to hide themselves from prying eyes. However, with Garden's political ascendancy the leaders of Edea's 'White SeeDs' petitioned for the authority to begin anti-piracy operations in the area.

The petition was granted, and SeeD released their new Atticus-11s to the White SeeDs, anxious to see how their ambitious design held up under live-fire situations.

They needn't have worried, as the incredibly agile vessels outclassed the pirates by an order of magnitude. They were fast enough to avoid anything powerful enough to damage them, and small-arms fire presented no problem to the hardened carapace of the boat. Superstitious pirates christened them 'Viragos' after an old seafaring legend, and would often pre-emptively abandon ship when they spotted one.

One captured pirate famously said of them: "Well I spied it at range with me lookin' glass, and I sez to meself 'Zeburt, here comes death or dinner, and either way its _pissed_ at yer.' Anyroad there 'int enough of me boat left to fill a matchbox…".

 **'Albatross' Long-Range Dropship:**

In the later days of the Second Sorceress War, SeeD came into possession of the _Ragnarok_ , former flagship of the now defunct Esther Space Force. This impressive vessel allowed SeeD personnel to travel the length and breadth of the planet in a scant few hours, and gave them the ability to insert troops rapidly to all levels of the battlefield.

While the ship was returned to the Loire Administration after the attack on Lunatic Pandora, SeeD acknowledged the utility of an air-based deployment method that could simultaneously provide fire-support to troops on the ground. While a vessel on the same scale as the Ragnarok was entirely beyond the scope of the SeeD engineering teams, they did propose a light transport vessel that could take six fully-equipped SeeD troops with a crew of three.

The design that would eventually become the Albatross was a tilt-engine gunship with two side-facing auto-cannons (taken from the Atticus-9) manned by door gunners. The body of the vessel was ovoid with two reinforced doors that slid back to allow troops to enter or exit the craft. The engines were secured to the ends of four wings that formed a cross pattern not dissimilar to smaller unmanned drones used by Esther security forces.

The engines were provided by the grateful Esther government, who allowed Garden to produce them on license in limited numbers. The engines were a miniaturised version of the fusion-torches used by the _Ragnarok_ for locomotion, giving the Albatross a super-sonic top-speed that necessitated crash-couches for all passengers.

The Albatross is as fuel-efficient and cost-effective a design as it could be, but they are still _far_ too expensive to trot out for most missions. The Garden Organisation keeps a small fleet of 12 vessels for emergencies, and most SeeD teams still travel to their targets via conventional methods. However, when they are used it is with impressive precision. Albatross gunships use a hardened radio-rig to support troops on the ground, and their auto-cannons can decimate enemy infantry formations and even give tanks a bloody nose if requested.

The one caveat is that the complexity of this design makes it somewhat fragile, so SeeDs on the ground will often attempt to remove any anti-air weaponry on foot before requesting Albatross support.


	3. Chapter 3: Training Day

_Author's Note:_

 _This chapter is a pretty important one for the story because it's the one I need some reader feedback for (if you're feeling generous, of course). In this chapter we are introduced to three potential new characters, and my question is whether we should aggressively follow these new characters or return to the pre-existing ones in order to further explore their stories in greater detail. Either way they'll be involved, but the question is are they interesting enough to take screen-time away from the classic line-up?_

 _We're also introduced to one of my favourite bits of FF VIII lore, that of Adel's signal. The notion of a Sorceress being so powerful that she can blot out the radio signals of an entire planet while essentially in a medically induced coma really speaks to the quite reasonable fear of them that people have._

 _It also emphasizes the importance of an organisation like SeeD as a bunch of normies working to keep these Goddess-like beings in check. I mean Edea was a sweet old lady who ended up taking over a superpower and igniting a World War in the course of about a month, and Ultimecia had the power to compress the entire space-time continuum down into a single point and create a bubble of livable space in the middle of it._

 _You can see why people get nervous around them, you know?_

 **Time Compression -3 years, 4 months, 14 days:**

The winking lights of the Presidential Palace could be seen from anywhere in the city, but Halborn liked them best from right here. He was stationed up on the roof of the Cielmata Observatory, one of nearly two dozen installations all across the city that turned their eyes towards the heavens.

The constant glow of the city made these observatories practically useless for observing the stars or other celestial phenomena, but that didn't matter a jot. What they were looking at was close by enough that they wouldn't lose sight of it… The trooper winked with his right eye and watched his overlay convert to thermal viewing. He cast an eye over the districts below, watching as the thermal blooms gave an otherworldly mien to the already bizarre technicolor anthill.

Esther hummed with the light of a billion people going about their business in blissful prosperity, and Halborn watched it with a contented smile hidden behind his helmet. An image of unmarked transport trucks rolling through empty streets bubbled up and ruined it for him, and the smile was washed away.

He tried to focus on the sky above him, but he heard doors being kicked in and little girls crying in confusion…

"Evening, Captain."

An anonymous soldier in regulation power armour effortlessly scrambled up the sheer glass of the observatory's lower floors. Halborn's HUD identified the trooper as Eleseff Bala, a relatively new addition to his unit. She was… enthusiastic.

"Bala."

He responded stiffly, still a little shaken. He and a lot of the older troopers had 'moments' like this, but it wouldn't do to let the new girl know about them. They had all informally agreed that stuff about… _the past_ should stay with the Old Guard. They didn't need to poison the minds of the next generation. Halborn took his responsibilities to the young seriously…

"I take it that the perimeter is clear?"

Bala saluted happily, her axe affixed to her back for optimum climbing traction.

"Yes, Sir! All faces of the building are secure."

" _Same as they were 20 minutes ago…_ " Halborn thought tiredly.

Lots of younger recruits were like this, full of beans but quick to get bored with the very workaday conditions of their job. There wasn't much _adventure_ in the New Esther, and the police rarely responded to anything more calamitous than the odd Black Friday shopper's quarrel…

"Thank you, Bala. Why don't you take a minute before you _inevitably_ make another pass…"

It should have been impossible for an armoured beetle-face to convey disappointment, but somehow the young trooper seemed to positively _radiate_ it as she took her place in the small security office they were sharing. He recovered some of his smile at her boredom and tried to remember if he had _ever_ been that energetic. As she fidgeted in her armour while he got comfortable he determined that he could not have.

After a minute or so, it seemed the younger officer could no longer contain herself.

"Sir... why do we have to guard this place, anyway? Surely there are targets that are worth more than some old telescope?"

Halborn was glad (not for the first time) that nobody could see you roll your eyes in power armour.

"The Observatories are to be observed and maintained at _all_ times, Bala. The Tomb of the Sorceress needs to be monitored constantly to detect any changes in its condition or orbit. You _know_ that already."

Bala seemed unconvinced by his answer, and Halborn reasoned that he might have felt the same thing if their positions were reversed.

"But isn't that what the Lunar Base is for? Adel's being monitored by everyone there 24 hours a day. Surely these telescopes aren't any use compared to them?"

Halborn mentally weighed the pros and cons of getting into this particular debate before answering. On the one hand he _hated_ talking about anything to do with the Sorceress, but on the other hand this _did_ seem like the sort of thing she should be aware of… He had to admit that he found it _deeply_ uncomfortable whenever someone younger than him used her real name…

When he was that age it was known that you never _dared_ to speak the Sorceress' name out loud.

Eventually the desire to educate won out, and Halborn switched on the portable TV he used to watch his soaps on slow nights.

"You ever have a TV like this? They probably don't make 'em anymore."

Bala looked at the old TV set as if it had been unearthed from the ancient Centran ruins instead of Halborn's satchel. Instead of connecting it up to the cable socket in the wall, he popped out a metal antenna array with a button on the side. The TV beeped angrily and the screen flickered to life, showing a scrolling mass of random numbers and letters.

"You know what that is, Bala?"

She nodded her armoured head and Halborn continued, scanning the junk data for the bits he knew were coming up.

"See, that's the signal coming down from the Sorceress' Tomb up there in space. It's so damn strong that there isn't a single place on the planet you can use a radio or a TV transmitter without having to drown this stuff out."

He traced lines of junk data with his finger and beckoned her closer.

"Come in close and have a look, you might miss it otherwise…"

Bala knelt down on one knee and brought her face up to the screen, with a hiss he heard her helmet open and she placed it gingerly under one arm. Halborn noticed with something approaching dismay that she looked even younger than he thought she was…

"Any second now… See, _most_ people assume that all the static is a by-product of the Tomb's functions. A sort of dampening field to ensure that the Sorceress stays mentally… uh… switched off. Brain-dead, so to speak…"

He saw some of the tell-tale signs that the other Old Guard boys knew to look for, it wouldn't be long now…

"Only… That ain't _strictly_ true. See, the signal isn't a function of the Tomb, or Lunar Base, or of anything _else_ we might happen to have up… _There!_ "

He darted an armoured finger to a line of code that crept up from the bottom of the screen. Bala squinted to follow it, stared for a second and then nearly leapt clean out of her skin. She rocketed away from the television and hit the opposite wall in a crash of limbs, her helmet rolled away into the corner. Halborn didn't even flinch.

"Yeah, it has that effect on people…"

He looked at the girl's eyes, which were wide with panic and confusion.

"You're a mean old man, Halborn…" he thought to himself as he walked over to pick up the discarded helmet, he dusted it off with one hand and held it out to her.

"Here, put your helmet back on, kid."

She was still staring in horror at the little TV screen which continued to dribble out code, seemingly unaware of its own transgressions.

utwFG3912FFENTjgffwjxobyrq99ctneaxcjjwrn321mbFedkbBkySSawnjvbogajwnrvu3hj1F2i34offvka35obccskwk45+&fjwwrobjcvgidgidlwoer44392945idwowermrea0c96m4FSWRSqmmwekfodksr9391839f9vkc_ **IWILLNEVERLETYOUFORGETABOUTME** _#fj492sjv842kakxjctotowkqoskckvoitoktyo5m3cvo05k6guvwmqpoyib3i49bszxcoblpwo10293jcmdkiern483njac8j59mwkncjr9khobdirhrgvxzbhyxvbhtscvfhnuj654d23r45y6dvt4rdazxerkmsqiwck0rmwivjirjwmqw392912k391kcdikvmitoqkd93n58vn52k34umfk3ij5n6k4vkr4j42jndnvjrkalkfmv4o24j3ksdnrjti234jgmti608mdmfr43e21ejskvntsdnvkscvrkyobd494mgi5kfkndivntsmdv95j6jnnfksnejsjdgnrtk3

 **Time Compression +10 years, 2 months, 8 days:**

The afternoon was gloriously sunny as Squall rotated his elbow to release the tension from his wrist. Around him lay the panting, exhausted bodies of 40 students. To a chorus of groans and stifled sobs he withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his brow in a workmanlike fashion. He silently gave the blade and handle a very quick dust-down before securing it to his hip-harness. When he spoke, it was without heavy breathing or any outward sign of exertion (something he _knew_ would have an emasculating effect on the newly-chastened students).

"Now, have we learned anything _important_ today, class?"

Some of the groans got momentarily louder as the more vocal of the students debated whether to answer the inhuman monster that had just kicked seven bells out of the lot of them. After a moment, the more lucid students murmured the mantra he had been beating into them for the past half-hour.

" _While Instructor Trepe may have many positive qualities as both a teacher and a person, it behooves us to defer to the wisdom of Instructor Leonhart in matters pertaining to the Gunblade…"_

They spoke in halting unison, _ever-so-slightly_ out of sync with one another. If Squall were a man of less self-restraint, he would have openly giggled at their sullen delivery. He regretted not making a recording of that moment of supreme triumph to show Quistis later.

He allowed himself a thin smile before casting his eye over the recovering student body.

"Very good! However, it _did_ take you three attempts, so I would recommend writing it down somewhere. _Now!_ Most of you have won the prize of being judged bloody useless with a Gunblade, so you win an afternoon with your _beloved_ Commanding Officer Mr Foxfort."

This elicited a further groan of dismay from the students and a raucous belly-laugh from their CO, who clapped his meaty hands together in anticipation of further trauma. Squall scanned the bruised crowd for the ones he had mentally picked out during the 'fight'.

"However, you, you and _you_ are to stay right here."

Three very sore looking students pulled themselves up to a standing position and gingerly fell into line in front of him. He took a moment to appraise them in a non-combat setting.

The girl on the left was a good head-and-a-half taller than Squall and had the muscle-mass to go along with it, she looked Trabian if Squall was any judge… Wherever she was from, she _clearly_ had some sort of background in soldiering. Maybe one of the Mountaineer Regiments? No, too young… He put the thought to the back of his mind for now.

The boy in the middle was dejectedly trying to pull his hair back into whatever ridiculous 'style' he had placed it in before being ground into the dirt. He gave every impression of being a melodramatic pretty boy with delusions of grandeur, but Squall was best friends with Irvine Kinneas so who was _he_ to judge?

The other boy was so scrawny Squall marvelled at his ability to stand still without being carried off by an errant breeze… Nevertheless, he had held and swung that Gunblade like a pro at times, more consistently than anyone _else_ on the field at least… Now if he could just get the kid to stop staring at him…

He stood in front of them and made a point of striding up and down once or twice to look them over.

"Right… First-things-first: You're here because out of the whole class the three of you seem to be the only ones who can follow instructions. I _like_ that."

He stood in front of the girl, who stared straight ahead in a textbook at-ease position. Squall noticed with growing consternation that 'straight ahead' translated to 'somewhere above her Instructor's head' in this case.

"You. What's your name?"

The student didn't move an inch as she answered.

"Bascombe, Tula. Sir!"

Squall visibly rolled his eyes at all the faux-military posturing, but pressed on regardless.

"Do you know why I picked you out?"

That broke her out of formation instantly, and she looked at him with barely disguised shock. Squall recognised a textbook "Nobody said there would be _questions!_ " look.

"Uhh… no, Sir. I don't believe I do… Was I… _better_ than the other candidates?"

Squall eyebrows knitted in sympathy.

"No Bascombe, you were terrible. _Demonstrably_ worse than most of your colleagues."

He strode over to the unopened Gunblade cases and grabbed one of the B-Patterns that he had stashed away for this unlikely eventuality. Her mouth was still a rictus of shock and dismay when he returned.

"However, I noticed that you're _heavily_ favouring your right hand, and this is a two-handed weapon. You're throwing off your own aim when you move. I want you to try this one out."

He popped the clasps on the case and pulled out a one-handed Automatic-Pattern Gunblade, swapping the heavy two-hander for the nimbler automatic.

"You ever fence, Bascombe?"

"N… no, Sir." She stammered, holding the blade as if it would go off in her hands.

"I had a colleague who took fencing lessons in secret for over _six years._ Said it was the secret to success with this weapon. He was _good_ too, see this?"

Squall pointed to the scar on his nose for effect. Bascombe seemed to get a light in her eyes, her soldierly bearing demolished by the comparison to _an actual SeeD!_

"Don't get too excited, he was _deeply unpleasant_ … and _don't_ think I'm just saying that because he tried to murder me four or five times…"

Squall watched the girl's heavy shoulders slump and set to work teaching her the basic positions. He sent her off to one of the training dummies as he turned to the next recruit.

"Alright, what about _you_ then… Name?"

The aspiring hair-model smiled toothily and gave a mocking version of Bascombe's salute.

"Jat Kolem, Boss. Say, can I get one of those nifty automatics too? Don't seem no fair at all that Tula gets all the fun toys."

"Ugh… He evens _sounds_ like Kinneas." Squall thought to himself as he shot the boy a look of dry condescension.

"No. You're not fast _or_ strong enough. You want the two-hander for the precision. Head over there, work on your foot-patterns and show me what you can do when we put the trigger in play."

He reached into a pouch on his belt and retrieved six large bullets, dumping them unceremoniously into Jat's open hand. With a handwave he dismissed the boy and turned to his final charge.

The boy was as silent as he had been this whole time, holding the Gunblade over his shoulder in the way that Squall himself liked to do sometimes.

"Zan Thosfort, at your service Commander Leonhart."

Squall had to bite back the urge to wince. As unlikely as it was, he _did_ occasionally get recognised...

He didn't care for it.

"Alright, alright… None of that 'Commander' stuff, ok? _Instructor_ will do for now…"

Zan nodded thoughtfully, clearly attempting to attribute some deeper meaning into a very simple request.

"Understood, Instructor."

The boy's voice was calm to the point of clipped, and Squall tried not to think about how familiar the tone was.

"Right, well… You've studied the Gunblade at some point I see, but if I'm not wrong this is your first time actually _holding_ one, yes?"

The boy nodded curtly. If he was surprised by Squall's insight, he didn't show it.

"Right, well I'm just going to make a couple of slight adjustments to your stances. Whatever book you're reading it was written with someone taller and thicker than you in mind."

He went through some minor adjustments and sent the boy over to a training dummy. He noticed the lumbering CO making his way over with a field radio in one hand.

"Call for you, Instructor. Routed through G."

Squall acknowledged him with a nod and took the boxy radio in hand. He tapped the chunky button on the side twice and it crackled to life. A slightly distorted voice he recognised as his Chief Adjutant Xu came through.

"Commander, we have a priority dispatch. You're requested to rendezvous with one of our clients at G and await further instructions."

Rendezvous at G? Galbadia Garden is strictly off-limits to anyone who isn't involved in the conf-...

 _Oh._

"Copy Xu, please inform my wife that this request would legally qualify as nepotism and thus will be handled by one of the personnel already on site."

Xu's response was almost instantaneous.

"Our client has advised that accusations of nepotism are unfounded, as the terms of your contract stipulate that you are to make yourselves permanently available to her, and I quote: 'Until Timber gains its independence'. She notes that Timber is still a governed territory of the Galbadian Republic, Sir."

Squall took a moment to huff.

"Xu, am I getting predictable?"

If Xu laughed, she did so with the channel closed.

"I can have an Albatross in the air within 8 minutes, Sir."

Squall creased his brow with irritation.

"At _today's_ gas prices, Xu? I have a rental car, thank you. Tell her I'll be there in an hour or so. I'll be bringing some Auxes with me, so have the personnel officer find somewhere to stuff them for me, will you?"

"Understood, Sir. Central Out."

The radio shut itself off and he handed it back to the CO who was lighting up a new cheroot with a look of true contentment on his face.

"Bowing out, Sir?"

Squall nodded and patted his sides to ensure he had all of his things in order.

"Afraid so, Foxfort. I'm taking those three with me as well, make sure their families are informed."

"Right-o, Sir. See you in a day or so?"

"I expect so, but if not I'll make sure they're returned to you in due course."

He shook the CO's hand and walked back to his three recruits. He noted with interest that Tula's training dummy was hacked into several discrete sections, Zan's was the recipient of several surgically precise slash-wounds, and Jat's was blown clean in half.

" _They'll do for a start…"_ He thought to himself.


	4. Chapter 4: Esther: An Overview

_Author's Note:_

 _Another technical document brief, this time for the army of Esther. These guys were super OP if you took their lore at face value, so my key thought here was how to effectively 'hobble' them in such a way that they could feasibly be challenged by the technologically inferior G-Army. My solution is simply to reduce the available manpower, and I've also thrown in a touch of tactical inflexibility and just a smidgen of war-weariness._

 _As to the city itself, I always pictured it as something akin to 2000 AD's Mega City One if everything was working the way it was supposed_ _to work. I picture factory zones the size of New York, individual habitat buildings holding thousands of people in spacious, palatial apartments. I can't imagine suburbia is even a concept in Esther's cultural mindset. It seems like the sort of place that would take a solid few weeks of walking to traverse from end to end, giving rise to different cultural sub-sets based on the function of the District. Each residential district would essentially be a self-sustaining arcology, where residents can get everything they could possibly need inside their building (think something like an upbeat version of J.G. Ballard's High-Rise)._

 _When each individual can order anything and everything they need with no effort on their part, I should imagine it makes them reticent to go out and have adventures. Things that are exciting are also dirty, tiring and dangerous, something the average Esther citizen doesn't need in their life._

 _As always, I'd appreciate any thoughts you lot might have on how this could be better, or perhaps you even have some thoughts about how you might have done things differently? All comments are welcome, naturally._

 **Garden Historical Database Entry C/131:**

 **The Tactical Evolution of the Esther Expeditionary Forces in the wake of the Second Sorceress War:**

The nation of Esther was subject to an unprecedented ecological disaster in the wake of the Lunar Cry, as the Lunatic Pandora was activated a scant few miles south of the city. While the city itself was able to return to relative safety within 6 months of aggressive fighting (although the lower Kyuto District remained subject to monster infestations for a further two years) the surrounding countryside was overrun with dozens of aggressive new fauna species. The natural food chain was entirely destroyed as the Lunar monsters tore across the desert like a cannibalistic plague.

While Esther generated much of its vital foodstuffs and other key goods through hydroponics facilities and manufacturing districts within the city itself, there were nevertheless supply problems that left citizens at risk of starvation in the richest nation on Gaia.

The ever-enigmatic President Loire decided to break with nearly two decades of isolationism to open up trade routes with Trabia and the wider world. Perhaps more controversially he allowed his country to enter into various bi-lateral trade agreements with Galbadia in order to procure his nation's food supplies. While many citizens bristled at the thought of trading with the very outsiders who were responsible for their suffering, President Loire's administration could trade on several years worth of political good will to push the deals through.

Within a year the Transcontinental Rail Bridge was repaired and reactivated, with dozens of cargo trains travelling along its length day and night. Crucial to this tense political relationship was the town of Fisherman's Horizon, which naturally served as a mid-point between the two powers. Both nations maintained embassies there and FH was considered politically neutral ground.

This left the matter of the severely atrophied Esther military to contend with. True reconstruction could not take place until the entirety of the city and surrounding environs were safe, but the Army was _much_ smaller than it had been under Sorceress Adel. This problem was further compounded by the fact that the Esther military was under severe strain holding key districts and ensuring public safety, when it was clear that an aggressive attack on monster nests was necessary.

To that end President Loire authorised the emergency re-activation of several thousand moth-balled robotic combat platforms built under Adel's rule. While old, these units worked in concert with human soldiers to bolster troop numbers and buy the breathing room necessary to push out into the infested zones.

However, once the crisis was over Esther's military stockpiles were dangerously low. The Loire administration ordered a media blackout on the state of the Armed Forces, something the reclusive nation was comfortable enforcing while the nation rebuilt. Seemingly unconcerned by the galling cost of the city's rescue, the ever-innovating Dr Odine suggested to the President that now would be an _excellent_ time to make some structural reforms to the army.

His 'reforms' were mostly tantamount to throwing enormous sums of money at the military research budgets to allow Odine's own designs to be rushed into action. Loire assigned Minister Ward Zabac to reign in the Dr's worst impulses and deliver an actionable plan to rebuild the nation. Minister Zabac refined Odine's suggestions, eventually using his own Galbadian heritage to inject some new ideas of his own into the process.

 **'Octo-Elastoid' Omni-Directional Security Construct:**

An Adel-era autonomous unit originally designed to guard strategically important locations for extended periods of time, the Elastoid was a venerable auxiliary unit of the EEF used as a defensive ambush and squad support unit. Some Elastoids have been known to lie dormant for years at a time, popping out from a hiding place if they detect an intruder. Galbadian tactical manuals contain sections on the preemptive detection of dormant Elastoids as they are surprisingly adept at concealing themselves.

With the conclusion of the Lunar Crisis and the recovery and reactivation of all of the city's manufacturing districts, commanders began asking for new mechanical units to complement their depleted human numbers. The Elastoid was taken back to formula and given a substantial upgrade to nearly every key system, resulting in an impressive unit capable of planning and executing ambushes without human intervention.

Firstly, the central control hub was dramatically overhauled, with a new VI gestalt capable of controlling twice as many limbs as the original Elastoid with no loss of function. This hub was anchored to the body of the unit by a thick yet flexible 'trunk' instead of free-floating in a magnetic bottle. This eliminated the costly issue of signal loss which often resulted in flailing uncontrolled limbs when the unit took any damage to the central core.

The Octo-Elastoid was also coated in a semi-biological 'skin' that could change colour and texture at will, allowing the unit to blend into the background nearly perfectly. When combined with a heat-dampening under layer not even G-Army thermal detection technologies could pick up the Octo-Elastoid, making it the perfect stealth and infiltration unit.

The units also kept the original Elastoid's Magitek Para-Magical Junction Unit, allowing it to function as a support-mage for other assets. However, the designers did remove the centrally mounted laser-cannon, which was prone to overheating and mirror-warping with repeated use. Instead a series of four smaller surgical-grade lasers were affixed to the end of each tentacle, allowing the unit to carve through skin, clothing and even body armour with enough time, which the vice-like grip of the other tentacles were _very_ capable of providing.

Some more unscrupulous commanders have drawn up plans to utilise Octo-Elastoids as weapons of terror, planting them in contested urban areas and letting them wreak havoc over weeks and months as a kind of adaptive re-usable landmine. Thus far cooler heads and the implicit condemnation of the Loire Administration have prevented any serious consideration of this doctrine, but the tactical theory is sound and Laguna Loire will not be the President forever…

 **'Peacemaker' and 'Terminator' Powered Armour Concept:**

The Esther military has always had a manpower problem, as many citizens of the reclusive super-state lack the necessary mindset for war. Most Estherians live their whole lives not wanting to see the world or even leave the confines of their decadently comfortable city.

While much of the slack has traditionally been taken up by unmanned robotic units, a bare minimum of human personnel must be maintained to coordinate them. This became abundantly obvious during the First Sorceress War, where Esther forces found themselves frequently outclassed by technologically inferior Galbadian defense forces.

The traditionally-garbed Esther foot-soldiers and command staff were unable to compete with the impeccably drilled and trained G-Army infantry, and their unmanned units were essentially useless without proper human oversight. Sorceress Adel needed to keep up her raids on the other nations and furiously demanded a solution to increase the survivability of her otherwise fragile expeditionaries.

Several different agencies presented their own concepts for new infantry support units and other automated solutions (robotics being the _de rigueur_ solution to all of Esther's problems at the time) and while interesting, none of them worked. Adding fresh robots to the problem left the infantry just as vulnerable as before, but most engineering firms lacked the intellectual flexibility to pull away from their focus on robotics.

The solution was eventually presented by an unnamed employee working for the fledgling Odine Corporation, who submitted plans for a revolutionary new combat uniform that utilised a robotic frame linked to the host's central nervous system.

The design that would eventually become the 'Peacemaker' armour utilised a cortical shunt implanted at the base of the neck that transmitted neural impulses to a computer. This shunt was connected to an armoured exoskeleton that was designed to interpret neural impulses and use the data to move the limbs. Early prototypes were bulky and somewhat ponderous, but the theory was sound.

The unit was quickly refined and rolled out to infantrymen, who were grateful for the many advantages that powered armour offered.

In addition to the light and sturdy armour plating (which provided decent protection against melee weapons and small arms fire) the unit also used an artificial muscle fibre rig that _greatly_ improved individual stamina and speed. Soldiers wearing Peacemaker armour could maintain running speeds of up to 45 kph for _up to an hour_ , as long as they were trained to allow the armour to do most of the legwork.

The pads of the fingers and toes were also designed to adhere to any surface the user designates, allowing Peacemaker troops to climb the sides of cliffs or even skyscrapers as necessary. Esther police units utilising Peacemaker armour are often referred to as 'Spider-men' by locals as they can climb even sheer glass with no apparent discomfort.

While possessing many impressive attributes, one thing that the Peacemaker does _not_ do is increase the physical strength of the user, as its artificial musculature is designed for longevity rather than brute strength.

This was eventually exposed as a major shortcoming of Peacemaker units, who had precious few options when it came to enemies they could not outrun or out-flank.

A much more powerful variant was created to address the design limitations of the unit that would eventually become the dreaded 'Terminator' armour. Everything about the suit was significantly beefed up to provide a truly unparalleled infantry combat suit that has yet to be bested by any nation on Gaia.

The original Peacemaker muscle-weave was laced with an improved 'quick-twitch' layer that allowed for an impressive power boost. This in turn created soldiers that were able to punch through concrete and tear steel doors off their hinges with little effort. This also allows Terminator units to jump more than 40 feet into the air in addition to their pre-existing Peacemaker-tier speed and stamina upgrades.

The mithril-composite armour plating was replaced with a new material created by weaving carbon nanotube sheets with diamond Chemical Vapor Deposition and then crushing them under intense pressure.

The resultant material was able to shrug off cannon-rounds with little difficulty and always ensured that the armour itself could be recovered in the event of a disaster. This didn't make the Terminators _themselves_ invincible however, as it was possible to essentially _bludgeon them to death_ with sufficient force of arms. As much as the armour might be impervious to damage, the human being beneath it was still vulnerable to the concussive force of bullets or other weapons.

These upgrades prompted a greatly expanded software package and a _much_ more invasive series of augmentation surgeries for prospective users, which drastically limited Terminator armour deployment.

While standard Esther Peacemaker units suffered almost no degenerative health issues as a result of their service, the Terminator program was _incredibly_ harsh on its applicants. Terminator users needed months of painful and invasive surgery to properly interface with the suit, and further months of training before they could take a step without shattering their leg-bones.

Naturally matters of human welfare were never _particularly_ high on Sorceress Adel's list of priorities, so the Terminator program was given an enthusiastic endorsement and units were drafted from the EEF's most battle-hardened regiments. The Terminator program struck well-deserved fear into the hearts of other nations, and only the very best of the best were selected for augmentation.

The Terminators became Sorceress Adel's spear-point for her constant raiding actions against the other nations, so they were expertly trained as infiltrators and stealth combatants. A single Terminator with the element of surprise was capable of overpowering an entire squad of fully-equipped G-Army troopers with robotic support units. However, they were always vanishingly few in number, as the training program had an extraordinarily high dropout rate (along with a shocking number of training deaths and dismemberments).

After the conclusion of the First Sorceress War, the Terminators were suddenly no longer needed by the new administration, and found themselves ostracized by the public at large. The training of new Terminators was suspended, and many of the existing applicants were retired or rotated to conventional Peacemaker units.

However, adjusting to civilian life was nearly impossible, as the augmentations they had undergone made it difficult to operate without the suit. Many Terminators turned to alcohol or substance abuse in order to deaden their augmented senses, stating that the sensory overload was too much to endure otherwise. Eventually the new administration decided to reactivate the Terminators to serve as squad commanders and elite units so as to not waste their skills (but mostly to ensure their medical needs were met).

All Terminators serving the EEF today are original members of the Adel-era program, still serving as Esther's elite Special Forces Unit despite many of them being in their 50s and 60s. These wizened men and women are often observed as being terse and melancholic, obsessed with protecting the New Esther until their bodies finally give out.

Despite their checkered pasts, many are now known as Heroes of the Nation by a supportive civilian population who see them as indefatigable protectors. Their relationship with the civilian population is complex to say the least, as to many they are a reminder not only of the moral excesses of the Adel years, but also the constant duty to atone for a dark period in their recent history.

The Terminators further distinguished themselves during the Lunar Crisis, often observed undertaking missions no other units were able or willing to. Many civilians have loved ones who would have perished if not for the timely intervention of a Terminator squad, and they share stories of the iconic black-suited super-humans who seemed to appear and disappear at will.

Perhaps the most well-known tale is that of a single Terminator by the name of Kyla Karragan, who saved the entire Noorada Residential District from a group of twelve Elnoyles who were looking to establish a breeding pit in what they now considered their feeding ground.

For more than three days without relief or support she fought winged monsters across the rooftops and in the galleries of the district, bringing them down where she could and evacuating the civilians where she could not.

In the closing hours of the third day the last three abominations were felled in the main atrium of the district. As the final beast spasmed in death, her ruined body finally seemed to give out.

Onlookers say she stood tall and defiant at the main entryway of the district and locked her armour in place with her final breath. The civilians looked on in muted shock as the monsters prowling outside refused to enter, terrified of the iron demon blocking the way.

When EEF troops forced their way into the district more than a week later they found it untouched by the horrors outside, still being guarded by the silent Terminator even in death. For the defense of the 8,000 citizens of the Noorada District the government commemorated her sacrifice with a real statue carved from raw Adamantine.

In a private ceremony for the surviving Terminators (now numbering less than 200), President Loire made a promise to the assembled warriors that their actions to preserve Esther would _never_ be forgotten as long as there was a single man or woman living to remember them.


	5. Chapter 5: Trabia Darlin'

_Author's Note:_

 _I'm not necessarily over the moon with this chapter, but sometimes you've just got to write it out a little bit, you know? Now, some of you might well have noticed that our main character is just a tad... glib compared to what he was in the game. My only true explanation is that during the events of the game he was a 17 year old boy. Not yet a man by most standards, and asked to save the world by people who built him to be the perfect soldier. He was a little maudlin, let's be honest. However I think that by his late 20's, a lot of that misanthropy will have been refined into a sort of dry humour._

 _Nobody has the energy to stretch out their Nu-Metal phase for that_ _long, surely?_

 _As to the chapter itself, there are a couple of scenes that I'd maybe like another go at, later. First of all the scene with Adel seems perhaps a little gratuitous, but canonically she did test the Lunatic Pandora over the Trabian mountains, and there's no reason to believe that they were uninhabited. What's the point of testing a weapon if you can't see what it actually does to your intended target._

 _So, while I'm not entirely satisfied with the depictions of Adel's insanity here, I think the basic premise fits well enough. It also highlights how inhuman being a Sorceress is. These women are not just magically gifted, they are essentially Goddesses walking the Earth. Edea doesn't enter rooms like a normal woman, she changes the atomic structure of things she wants to walk through with no more effort than you or I would expend on a doorknob._

 _This means that Rinoa is just never going to have a normal life with these powers, no matter how much she acts the part. She's essentially a spider living her life pretending to be a fly. She might act the part, but the flies know what she is and sometimes at night she'll feel that hunger upon her and she'll have to work damn hard to ignore it._

 **Time Compression -17 years, 8 months, 12 days:**

"My Lady, the alignment is complete. We are prepared to commence the test at your command."

The black beetle-face of the Terminator betrayed no emotion, and its body was held in an expression of perfect calm.

Adel curled her savage lip, somewhat impressed with this soldier's calm around her. She could smell the fear coming off of the rest of them, perceiving it as a choking miasma to wade through. To her every corner may as well _stink_ of piss and loathing, the verminous clouds of mundane humanity rendered trembling and incontinent at the sight of her.

This was as it _should_ be. She would have to _remind_ this soldier of that after the test concluded.

"Bring Odine." She hissed, dismissing the metal-man with a sound. The Terminator strode away at a controlled pace, which only fed her cold fury.

She reminded herself that _this was how she had made them to be_ , as unfeeling as the dead stones and twice as hard to kill. She had gotten _that_ wish at least…

"Yes? Vat does ze Zorceress require of Odine?"

The odious little man sidled up with that awkward jerky crab-walk of his, another thing adding to her killing mood. She acknowledged at least that the little man was _useful_ …

His mind was… agile, _flighty_. He had insight, and didn't seem to notice the outside world unless it contained something that interested him. In many ways Adel knew that he was smarter than her. She also knew that she was smarter than him in the _one area that counted_.

"I hear that the Pillar is ready to be tested."

It was a statement, not a question. If Odine noticed the menacing aura being exuded by the 12-foot tall Goddess before him, he didn't give any sign of it.

"Ze vibrations are as correct as zey can be made here. Ve vill have Lunar Cry, yet perhaps _smaller_ zan the natural occurrences. Ze Piller works best at sites zat have been specifically _tuned_ to amplify ze zignal."

Adel sent a ripple of magic to deform her left hand into a grotesque reptilian claw. With no more effort than if she were picking up an apple she scooped up the doctor and brought him up to her face. She smiled sweetly, knowing that the effect was probably quite sickening even to the Doctor…

"My _dear_ sweet Doctor. We have only managed to locate one such site, and it is not in an advantageous position. This weapon is of little use to me if I can only fire it at my own _beloved_ people, would you not agree?"

The Doctor's already runny face seemed only to get _runnier_ , his watery eyes scanning her face for any sign of impending evisceration. Adel noted with quiet amusement that he had stopped breathing.

"Zat is true, mein Zorceress…"

Her dark lips curled back, revealing teeth that were still _mostly_ human, pearly white and neatly arranged. She used her human hand to gently pull the back of the Doctor's head close, gently resting her cheek on his, her lips an inch away from his earlobe.

"Sometimes, at night… _I_ _dream_ , Doctor. Did you know that the Sorceress dreams, I wonder? I dream about _eating you_ , Doctor… Starting at the soles of your feet and pulling _strip after strip_ of quivering meat off of your _grinding bones_ … Feeling the tendons go taught and then _snap_ as I pull them away… I'm _gifted_ in the disciplines of healing, sweet Doctor… You'd live to see it all happen, I _promise_ … I'd be willing to wager good money that I could keep you alive for _weeks…_ Would you like me to do that for you, Doctor?"

She whispered as if she were confessing to a priest, and felt the trembling old man in her arms who had no more strength than a baby to her. She cradled him close, and rocked him gently.

" _Shhhh... Shhhh…"_ She cooed softly, gently stroking the scientist's scalp in a motherly fashion.

"Don't fret, my darling… _Don't you fret…_ You're my _special boy_ , do you know that? I'm going to save you for last, I promise…"

She sank to her knees in rapture, still holding the doctor like a child.

"Doctor… Tell me the drones are in place…"

She sensed that Odine did not quite know whether to respond, and she tightened the grip of her claws _just so_. With a sharp intake of breath he seemed to regain his senses.

"Yes, mein Zorceress… Ze drones are transmitting data from all of ze settlements in ze shadow of ze mountain. You vill be able to see… it all…"

She slowly unfurled her claws and lovingly deposited the prone professor onto the floor, where he lay waiting for the death blow which surely _must_ be coming.

"Run along, Odine. I want to be _alone_ for this…"

Dr Odine did _not_ need to be told twice. He leapt up and scurried away with a sprightliness that his tiny weathered limbs seemed incapable of. Adel's superhuman senses caught the tell-tale whimpers she was expecting. Odine was weeping as he ran.

 _As he ought to be_.

With a tap of a button, a battery of TV screens removed themselves from behind a wall panel and flashed into life. The first few feeds were attached to cameras on the exterior hull of the strange craft she sat within.

The Lunatic Pandora's steel hull was dotted with cameras and remote drones to capture _every second_ of the Lunar Cry, the first in more than a century.

The other feeds though, belonged to remote units that were stalking the Trabian wilds at this very moment, hovering around the outskirts of the villages and towns dotted along the border with Esther.

She was going to watch those feeds with _great_ interest, as it would surely not be long now. The gargantuan Crystal Pillar had been pulsing and humming for nearly a full day now, its strange ululation undetectable to the mundane humans coaxing it into being.

Adel heard it though. Adel heard _everything_ the Pillar wanted to say.

She could feel on the edges of her perception the tiny pinpricks of life energy that would soon tumble down from on high, throwing these sleepy mountains into chaos. She relished the coming hours, desperately hoping that her drones would survive the initial impact, wanting more than anything to have a camera feed active to watch what happens when the Lunar monsters discover the survivors…

 _A feast._

She decided that she would invite that Terminator to join her for dinner.

 **Time Compression +10 years, 2 months, 8 days:**

Squall steered the red convertible into the final checkpoint, idly clicking his fingers for the identification papers he had shown to the last three sentries. The girl Tula was sitting up front with him, and had thus been given the task of holding the sacred documents. Squall wondered again how a girl who looked fully capable of pulling him clean in half was so damn _nervy_ all the time. The whole car ride over she'd been sat up ram-rod stiff, refusing to speak or make eye-contact unless ordered to. She dutifully handed over the papers without a word as the guard walked amiably up to the car.

" _At least she's one of mine…"_ Squall thought of the SeeD manning the checkpoint who walked over professionally, a heavy Chakram notched to her belt.

"Afternoon, Sir. Glad to have you back on site. Papers, please?"

Squall handed them over without comment, quietly pleased that the SeeD hadn't just waved him through on recognition. Galbadia Garden was hosting representatives of the G-Army today, and he was going to take _every_ chance to show them up he got. The girl manning the gate handed the papers back and gave a professional looking salute.

"Have a good day, Commander."

" _There's that title again…"_ Squall thought to himself glumly as the barrier lifted and he drove up to the Garden proper.

He remembered the first time he had come here (some _ten years_ ago now…) and remarked that surprisingly little had changed since then. The Garden had been returned to SeeD after the war, and now sat in its original place as if nothing had ever compelled it to leave.

Given the Garden's tempestuous recent history, the staff and students were clearly on edge. No Galbadian military official had set foot anywhere on the grounds in nearly 8 years, and the uncomfortable G-Army retinue looked defensive around their APCs. This was probably because they could feel the eyes of nearly every SeeD on the continent boring into them.

This was no coincidence, as his security advisor had _specifically_ called up those SeeD veterans who were present at both the siege of Galbadia Garden and the Battle for Balamb Garden. Aside from being some of SeeD's most experienced personnel, they all felt a _deep_ animosity towards the G-Army, and the stares the soldiers got were likely _far_ more predatory than they were used to.

Squall drove past them to one of the marked parking bays, taking a moment to look over the sorry-looking blue-coats. They were still armed, but confined to their APCs unless called upon. They looked _acutely_ aware that any movement that could be construed as aggressive would result in a short but _excessively_ violent confrontation that they were unlikely to survive, so their hands were very pointedly kept away from their triggers.

Squall noticed that most of them were staring at the bizarre blue frame of an Albatross shuttle which had clearly landed a short time ago. Squall parked close by to it and motioned for his passengers to follow.

As he approached the idling flyer, he noticed the name and portrait stencilled on the side. _Trabia Darlin'_ was adorned with a (somewhat fanciful) depiction of its pilot on the side. The very same pilot who was now waving enthusiastically through the glass canopy. Squall waved glibly and went to greet her.

"Hi Selphie, what do you hear up there?"

The pilot pulled off her helmet and snaked a hand through her hair. Her animated features settled quickly into her trademark smile, the corners of her eyes pinching with mirth.

"Nothing but the rain, Boss. You pick up some snacks while you were out?"

Squall didn't really approve of calling the Auxiliaries selected for aptitude testing 'snacks', but even the students themselves didn't seem bothered enough for him to make a fuss.

"Good eye, I'm going to run them through some tests after the Conference. This is Jat, that's Zan and over here is Tula. You three, this is Instructor Tilmitt. On matters of flight and combat magic, her word is _sacrosanct_."

The three Auxiliaries saluted the way their CO had taught them, and Selphie just smiled happily at them, never one for ceremony. Her eyes immediately locked onto Tula, who tried to disguise her nervousness at the attention with little success.

" _Damn_ , Squall! Where do they grow them like _her?!_ What's your secret, honey? Is it broccoli? I bet it is, I _hate_ broccoli."

Jat laughed and ran a hand through his own immaculately coifed hair while Zan smiled quietly to himself. Tula just turned beet red and stammered as Selphie hopped daintily out of the cockpit, her 5'2 frame looking positively _pixie-ish_ next to the giantess. She put her hands on her hips and make a mock show of surveying the nervy Auxiliary. Squall had to admit that nobody else could make students relax quite like Selphie, and he felt comfortable stashing them with her while he went off to play Politician.

"Can you hang onto them for an hour or so while I catch up with Rinoa?"

Selphie placed a hand on her chin and closed one eye, seemingly deep in thought. Her expressive face couldn't disguise her mocking, playful tone though.

"Ooh, that sounds like something that nets me a favour from our great and illustrious Commander to be redeemed at my leisure. You think so, snacks?"

"Yes Ma'am, it surely does." Jat replied with his characteristic drawl. Squall took her teasing as evidence of assent on her part.

"If she mentions anything about the Garden Festival, say you can't talk about it without a lawyer present." He offered this final thought before grabbing the last of his things from the trunk of the car.

"I assume you brought her in, Selph?"

Selphie nodded and started beckoning the students over to the frame of the big metal bird.

"Yeah, she should be up in Quisty's office right now."

With a final thank you he left her and the students to their business and made his way into the Garden proper. He strolled past SeeDs and students alike, mingling freely with various political staffers from the fledgling Galbadian Republic, which formed shortly after the end of the war. Occasionally a minor Senator could be found organising lonely little photoshoots to send to the press to show how involved they were at this 'historic' summit.

With the death of Vinzer Deling some ten years ago, the various cities and territories suddenly found themselves scrambling to fill a titanic power-vacuum. While they were temporarily mollified with the re-establishment of the Galbadian Congress, they were constantly vying for more power.

Squall got the distinct impression that _every single one of them_ was hoping to be the next Deling, constantly extolling the virtues of democracy until the day they got enough power to shut it down again.

" _All except one…_ " he thought to himself with a small tinge of pride. He made his way to Quistis's office on muscle memory alone, but his course was interrupted by a voice calling to him from one of the anonymous clusters of Galbadian politicians.

"Commander."

The voice was a little gnarled with age, but Squall recognised it well enough and turned to greet his Father-in-Law.

"General Caraway, welcome to Galbadia Garden. I trust our staff have made you comfortable?"

The man still carried himself with a quiet dignity, even with his chest weighed down under a thousand individual clumps of brass, silver and gold. The General's hair was now almost entirely grey, and he used a pair of surprisingly delicate spectacles that Squall had not seen before. Squall's words made the corners of his eyes pinch in a way that his daughter insisted was equivalent to a smile, though Squall wasn't entirely sure of that.

"They have done no such thing, Commander. For that I must commend your security staff, who are doing an excellent job."

Squall couldn't tell whether the man was serious or whether this was what Rinoa referred to as him 'mellowing with age'. Nevertheless, he took the comment with a stoic handshake.

"I'll be sure to pass on your compliments to our Chief of Security."

Squall found it somewhat fortunate that the General was a little old-fashioned when it came to social niceties, as Squall was entirely opposed to them unless absolutely necessary.

"Thank you, Commander. While I have your ear, I'd like to invite you both up to Deling City next month if you're amenable to the idea. I'd like an opportunity to sit down for a meal together without the… _political_ element."

Squall did some quick calendar-checking and realised which date he must have in mind.

" _The anniversary, naturally…"_ he thought glumly, he'd almost forgotten altogether.

"We'll be happy to attend, General. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to check in with Rinoa before things get going."

The General nodded politely and offered another handshake before departing back into the crowd. Squall took that as a cue to make his way to Quistis's office with all due haste.

Given that her office was on the second floor in a restricted zone, Squall was quite surprised to find Galbadian Troopers standing on either side of the door. They were ramrod-stiff but had a few tell-tale signs of nervousness hidden behind heavy armour.

" _Not in_ _ **my**_ _Garden you damn well don't.._." Squall thought to himself with surprising vitriol. He wasn't precisely _immune_ to the effect of seeing G-Army soldiers on Garden soil, so he marched up to one of the anonymous steel helmets and stared down the four red eyes with menacing intent.

"You _armed_ , boy?"

The trooper didn't quite flinch, but after a moment of abortive stoicism, he looked over to his superior for instructions. Upon receiving a confused nod in response, the Trooper seemed to regain some of his nerve.

"Y-yes, Sir. Sidearms only, as per Garden's request."

Squall moved in closer until her was no more than an inch from the young soldier's armour-plated nose. He noted that the boy looked no older than his 'Snacks'.

" _Request?_ Oh _no_ , Private. That was not a request, it was in fact a piece of _friendly advice_. See, that little sidearm of yours better stay snug and safe inside of its holster while you are on my grounds, because if it _leaves?_ "

Squall stepped back and cast an eye along the corridor, crowded in places with either diplomats or SeeD personnel going about their business. Squall quickly counted off who was watching what.

"There are currently no less than _four_ SeeD combatants watching you at this very moment. If your fingers so much as _graze_ that sidearm, I know that you will be dead within… _9 seconds_. If I'm right, at least one of those watchers is armed with a weapon that will very neatly _bifurcate_ you."

He turned back to the soldier, who was trying not to sweat unduly and failing.

"And they are _waiting_ for you to do something stupid. _Anything_ stupid. Concordantly, I _advise_ you not to give them the excuse they are so sorely waiting for. Am I making myself clear, Private?"

The trooper audibly gulped before answering quietly in the affirmative.

"I'm going into that office now. Think on my advice, Private."

Squall blew through the door before either of the troopers could summon the wherewithal to try and stop him. He smiled curtly to himself once the door had closed, knowing that the two troopers would spend the rest of their trip looking for mysterious (and entirely fictitious) SeeD assassins.

He immediately surmised the reason for the two door guards, as his wife Rinoa was currently sitting down to tea with the President of Galbadia.

Jotur Karan stood a little taller than most Galbadians Squall had met, _certainly_ taller than Deling had ever been. He was wiry and lean in a way that most Galbadian politicians were not, dark-skinned and a little mysterious with his cold composure.

Squall noticed almost immediately that he also smelled _strongly_ of bitter almonds, a fact he stored away for future use.

"Ah, Commander Leonhart. A pleasure to make your acquaintance once again. I am sure we will have much to discuss after my speech, which I am liable to be late for if I spend another second in the company of your _enchanting_ wife."

He shook Squall's hand perfunctorily and politely showed himself out, the two guards at the door falling smartly into step behind him.

Squall turned back to look at Rinoa, sitting in a well-tailored dress suit with her best political game face on. As soon as the door hissed closed the face was replaced with an eye-roll and a hand run through her immaculately coiffured hair. He remarked that in the ten years he had known her, she had grown into a beauty for the ages.

Well… He _wanted_ to, anyway. What he _actually_ remarked was:

"He smells _terrible_. Familiar, too..."

Rinoa shared a knowing look as Quistis bustled in from her adjoining office, carrying a neat dossier that was likely for Rinoa's appraisal.

"I do so _adore_ those times when you two get all lovey-dovey with each other…" She commented sarcastically as she took a seat on the opposite sofa. Rinoa smiled wanly and cocked an eyebrow at her husband.

"I think it _might_ be something to do with the fact that I only heard his heart beat three times in the last 20 minutes."

Quistis looked at the two of them with honest bafflement as they seemed to communicate silently. Eventually she pursed her lips irritably and tossed the dossier onto the coffee table.

"I've changed my mind, the two of you are awful. What do you mean about his _heartbeat?_ "

Rinoa shot Quistis an apologetic look. She worked pretty hard to make sure nobody saw the 'Sorceress' part of her, but she often forgot that not _everybody_ can hear the blood pumping through people's bodies.

"Sorry… I wish I had time to explain, but I should _probably_ be present for this speech. Walk with us?"

Quistis shrugged in the same way she used to when Squall was being particularly obstinate, motioned for her to lead on. The three of them left the office and began making their way across the mezzanine toward the Auditorium. Squall noted the Galbadians had mostly filed in to the large room for the President's commencing speech, leaving only their soldier escorts trying (and failing) to look tough on the lower levels.

Squall could tell that Quistis was about as happy to see them as he was, and elected to ask something they'd both been wondering for the last few weeks.

"Rin, why did we have to have this conference _here_. You know how Garden feels about the G-Army. I mean… We'll _work_ for them, sure… But having them here feels… _wrong_."

Rinoa simply smiled with satisfaction at her own political posturing.

"I brought them here because Timber is going to petition for Independence soon. We're planning on calling for a referendum in the next few months. The rest of the Republic needs to remember that more than any other province, SeeD is _contractually committed_ to Timber's sovereignty. We agreed that you're the one thing they're scared of… Well, apart from _me_ , obviously…"

If she was disheartened by that thought, she erased it from her face within a moment. Quistis seemed to pick up on it though, and was thankfully tactful enough not to push it.

"Hmm… clever. The Galbadians have been off their game ever since arriving, and they usually like a bit of posturing before they get down to business. If they tried a formation parade in _here_ it would be raining limbs…"

Rinoa brightened and gave a smile that was proud to the edge of smugness.

"Zone came up with the idea, actually."

Squall rolled his eyes at that thought.

"I can just _picture_ it, the three of you _squatting on the floor_ in some Senate corridor…"

Quistis laughed demurely with one hand over her mouth.

"Oh God, you don't _still_ do that, do you?"

Rinoa huffed petulantly, contrasting with her prim and poised attire in a way that did something _funny_ to Squall's train of thought…

As they walked into the auditorium, a steel fish-eye watched them coolly from high above.

TV cameras lined the sides of the grand room as the last of the Galbadian senators shuffled into place. Squall and Quistis took their place among the Garden representatives and watched as President Karan took to the central podium.

Even after all these years, he still had to work hard to shake off the image of Matron… _bleeding into the carpet_ over Rinoa's prone body…

"Quistis, are you junctioned?"

He shook the image out of his mind as the President cleared his throat and studied his notes. On the great screens behind him Galbadian flags were rustling patriotically.

"No, but I've got 10 SeeDs with GFs on this floor, and I think Selphie has one on her too. Why, are you?"

Squall looked around at the room, knowing that everything was secure but _feeling_ on edge. He knew it was probably just being _here_ again. He never liked G-Garden after the War…

"Yeah. I have one…"

Quistis frowned and pushed her spectacles a little further up her nose.

"Oh _Hyne_ , Squall. I don't know how you can _stand_ to have that thing in your head…"

She crossed her arm as Karan's speech ramped up a notch, evoking the pastoral history of Galbadia with its rolling hills and rugged souls taming the _blah-blah-blah…_

"I like it because it's _quiet_. It doesn't make a sound unless you order it to."

Quistis curled her lip in disdain and cocked an eyebrow at him.

"That's what the rest of us find so _upsetting_ about it… Just _sitting_ there in the back of your head, silently watching you… Cid should have thrown that damn lamp into the ocean instead of giving it to us."

Squall was only half-listening, feeling that something was entirely _off_ about this room. Granted he hadn't spent more than an hour in here since the Battle for Galbadia Garden, but things get changed or replaced in ten years…

But, were the screens _always_ connected to that big mass of cables and electronics?

Images of Matron descending in a shower of smashed glass filled his mind as some dim instinct rose from its slumber. Squall was already on his feet before the thought reached his forebrain, but by then the cables were descending. He was running as the oily black mass seeming to shimmer and tessellate, resolving itself into the shape of a terrible octopus with one horrid steel eye.

President Karan never saw the monster that did him in, a cold machine tentacle passing clean through his chest cavity as if it were made of _butter_. A silent spray of blood from his surprised mouth and the robot was on the ground, its seven remaining tentacles splayed and ready to fend off fresh attackers.

Squall had seen these things during a joint exercise in the Kashkabald, horrid automatons that could burst out of the sand and drag the unsuspecting down to their deaths within seconds.

The Octo-Elastoid wriggled and pulsed with maleficent energies, its red gaze looking at the twitching back of it's impaled victim. Screams and panic were breaking out among the politicians, but Squall wasn't overly concerned. He checked his ammunition and cocked the hammer of his Gunblade, sensed that Quistis stood at his left to support him.

"I've called for a combat medic; do you have any healing spells on you?!"

Squall rolled his neck as the robot attempted to shake off the President's body with a disdain no machine should be capable of conveying.

"It wouldn't matter. He's already dead."

Quistis was angry, her usual textbook poise thrown out of the window.

"I _know_ that, but we can't just let it be known that SeeD allowed the President of Galbadia be murdered right in front of our eyes and didn't bother to ask for a damned _medic!_ "

Squall motioned for her to follow him around to the right staircase, feeling the eye of the Elastoid on him. It would likely have leapt onto him if not for the sudden surprising intrusion of the deceased President, who gripped two sickly arms around the tentacle impaling him.

Quistis gasped in horror as the two (clearly broken) arms wrenched themselves backwards, gripping the tentacle and _pulling_ as the President further impaled himself on the steel protrusion, leaving a trail of foul-smelling viscera in his wake.

"How very silly of you. How vEry, veRY, SILLY."

The flesh of the President began to twist, bubble and burst with cancerous growths and pustules, and the skin of his face melted away as if made of wax.

"YOu'Ve dONe soMEthiNG _VErY_ siLLy INdEeD…"


	6. Chapter 6: Galbadia: An Overview

_Author's Note:_

 _As you can see, I'm not exactly done with the technical primers, and the Galbadian Army has the potential to be the most interesting for me. See, technologically they seem to have some significant advances over us, but tactically they're at a place that I would describe as 'between the wars'. For example, they have machine guns but no tactical knowledge of how to deploy and defend against them._

 _I see the G-Army sitting in a period of their history where they are constantly experimenting with new ways to train and equip their soldiers, having to adapt their military mindset after a series of embarrassing and expensive disasters. The Second Sorceress War was technically won by the G-Army, but realistically they couldn't have had much of a nation left after it was done..._

 _So essentially this makes them a post WWI power, with a whole host of new weapons and almost no knowledge of how to apply them._

 _Also, I might append this chapter later with an in-depth breakdown of the Gerogero that showed up in the last chapter, but that'll really depend on whether that interests anyone here. It might work better as 'gross zombie-dude who smells like cyanide' without having to put too much thought into it._

 _As always, thoughts are greatly appreciated._

 **Garden Historical Database Entry C/89:**

 **The Tactical Evolution of the Galbadian Army in the wake of the Second Sorceress War:**

In the immediate aftermath of the Lunar Cry that devastated Esther, the Galbadian Army _should_ have been triumphant. As the dust cleared they were standing victorious over all the great powers of the world. Timber, Dollet and even mighty Esther had been laid low by the G-Army's experienced troops and decisive use of unusual tactics.

However, the continuous military actions were merely a smokescreen, and Galbadia was left in an incredibly precarious position even as their enemies lay broken at their feet. The raising and deployment of the Lunatic Pandora alone fatally overtaxed not only the army's logistical apparatus but also the financial apparatus of the entire Empire.

Compounding the nascent economic collapse was the fact that the Galbadian political class had been decimated by the rogue Sorceress Edea. After her brazen assassination of Vinzer Deling, the Sorceress embarked on a campaign of consolidation and military build-up that hadn't been seen since the closing days of the First Sorceress War.

After the Lunar Cry attack on Esther it was evident to all that the Galbadian economy was far too focused on its burgeoning military-industrial complex to function effectively in peacetime. With the unexpected cessation of hostilities, the lack of political leaders to step in and take control of the ailing state led to a financial crash.

Infrastructure across the nation began to decay as civil administrators were hurriedly cobbled together by surviving members of the cabinet. Deling City itself was subject to almost nightly brownouts for more than four months before order was restored.

Much of the blame for this can be laid squarely at the feet of Vinzer Deling himself, who had spent the last two decades of his autocratic rule consolidating as much power as possible among himself and his chosen allies. After his death, most of them were obvious targets for the Sorceress' purge.

The inflexibility of this system led to the wholesale collapse of the Galbadian Empire as it was known then. What remained was essentially a series of semi-feudal city-states tied together by taxation and the military. Said military was war-weary after the conflict, which naturally took a heavy toll not only on the soldiers themselves but their severely outdated equipment.

It is telling that some of the most effective counter-Galbadian operations of the war were undertaken by small SeeD teams rather than traditional military units. Individual soldiers were unable to go toe-to-toe with the highly trained mercenaries, and their armoured support units were too dependent on constant logistical support. This often left G-Army infantry fatally unsupported at crucial moments.

As a new parliament was formed, an emergency budget was drafted that called for a significant de-escalation of hostilities with their neighbours. The Galbadian negotiators were able to buy time and supplies with bi-lateral trade agreements which were often _not_ weighted in their favour. Whatever the individual results of each agreement, Galbadia had bought enough time to rebuild, and began that task with gusto.

Using emergency powers granted by parliament, the new president Jotur Karan began buying up private assets and making them public utilities. While this was a tried-and-tested Galbadian tactic straight from the Vinzer Deling playbook, it seemed to bring much needed stability to the country. Money was extensively bled out of the gargantuan military budget and repurposed to build new infrastructure and revitalise the country's civilian economy.

This left the military itself in a difficult and precarious position. Under Deling's rule, they had an almost unlimited budget to push into any number of fanciful weapons programs. Now they were not just deprived of new research money, but many of their active assets were now too expensive to maintain.

This was most keenly felt in their Automated Platform projects, such as the promising but grossly over-budget X-ATM Walker Program and the SAM08G Bio-Mechanical Squad Support Platform. These machines (while not on the level of Estherian engineering standards) were deployed en-masse where possible and used to overwhelm enemy positions with weight of numbers. Under the new regime this tactic was no longer feasible. Galbadian commanders would now have to get by with simpler solutions and men who lacked the rigorous training of their forebears.

To that end the Ministry of Interior Defence embarked on a series of modernisation reforms designed to streamline the Galbadian military. They stipulated that this New Model Army should focus on cost-effective mechanised infantry divisions, use standardised weapons and armour and train for defensive warfare first and foremost.

 **Galbadian Infantry Weapons (Post Time-Compression):**

 **The GA-9 'Carlisle' Rifle:**

Traditionally Galbadian Infantrymen were trained to use two-handed swords as their primary weapon of choice. However, the average trooper was pointedly outmatched by any opponent with even rudimentary swordsmanship training, as fatally demonstrated in the disastrous 'Battle of the Gardens'.

Military commanders turned to Firearms training (a consistently undervalued discipline) to try and redress the balance. Guns were traditionally seen as too fiddly and ineffective against magical barriers to be a front-line weapon. However, with sufficiently powerful ammunition and adequate training they could be a fearsome weapon in the hands of a foot-soldier.

The problem was that most Galbadian firearm designs were universally known for their unreliability, often using cyclical magazines and complex recoil mechanisms that were prone to jamming in combat situations. The Galbadian National Arsenal was tasked with presenting a solution to these issues in a package that would be cheaper than earlier models.

A Timber-born engineer named Hannibal Carlisle looked to the weapons fielded by the now defunct Timber Army for inspiration. Most of the soldiers who fought against the G-Army were experienced huntsmen, and preferred simple, rugged rifles to the swords and lances popular with the G-Army at the time. He took several elements of those simple designs and combined them into a relatively rugged full-auto rifle with a simple 20-round box magazine that protruded from the left-hand side of the gun (offering a convenient hand-hold position for the trooper). These rifles were initially met with scepticism by the units they were given to, but after extended trials soldiers said they preferred the GA-9 for its light, compact size and the punishing barrage that was capable of bringing down an adult Grendel at close range.

Several variants were designed, the most iconic of which was the GA-9f, an even more compact version designed for use by Paratroopers, who ditched melee weaponry altogether in favour of this very effective 'room-sweeper'.

 **GA-13 'Nobleman' Pistol:**

During the Second Sorceress War, G-Army officers used bulky wrist-mounted sub-machine guns to engage enemies, but often complained that the weapons were too difficult to aim and use comfortably. Wrist sprains and breaks were so common among users of these weapons that to this day a broken wrist is often referred to as an 'Officer's Cramp'.

The Galbadian National Arsenal repurposed the design by simply cutting away the wrist-mounting, taking the twin-barrelled gun inside and converting it into an effective (if bulky) machine pistol. The resulting weapon was a rapid-fire heavy pistol that could be used in cramped quarters effectively. Losing the heavy wrist and shoulder mountings made officers much more mobile and difficult to pick out on the battlefield, aiding their survivability (which was greatly appreciated even if they _did_ miss the impressive shoulder pads).

While still a little unwieldy compared to a single-barrelled weapon, the Nobleman's excessively high rate of fire made it a popular weapon among officers and tank-crews. It also replaced the Navy's official service revolver, the aging RNP-46. Soon at least one Nobleman was strapped into the interior of every vehicle in the G-Army to fend off boarders. They were also used as holdout weapons by Paratrooper divisions, who found they could still operate the weapon from their flying platforms with some practice.

The greatest criticism levied against the Nobleman is that it lacks accuracy and tends to burn through ammunition _very_ quickly. Even with two clips containing 15 rounds each, the gun can be emptied in a little under two seconds.

The original weapon was fully-automatic with a single trigger that connected to a complex twin-receiver, making the gun prone to jamming and difficult to maintain. Later variants gave the gun two triggers (one for each barrel) and even allowed for a semi-automatic receiver to be added to either the left or right barrel. Compared to the rugged, utilitarian GA-9 rifle the Nobleman is a finicky and complex gun.

However, when used by a skilled operator it became surprisingly versatile, allowing for excellent close-range firepower in a package small enough to be used inside a tank or other confined quarters. Many officers have taken to personally modifying and customising their Noblemans, leading to a rash of unsanctioned copies (of varying utility) making their way into G-Army stockpiles.

 **GIP-4 'Hills Bomb':**

At the beginning of the Second Sorceress War, all Galbadian soldiers were required to undergo mandatory para-magical training, an expensive and lengthy process that greatly increased training costs for new troopers. Theoretically arming soldiers with a form of offensive weaponry that required no ammo or equipment was a potent force-multiplier. In practice however, most G-Army recruits lacked the skill necessary to utilise anything beyond the most basic magic spells.

A combat-junction specialist named Bertram Hills came up with a cost-effective solution. He worked with a demolitions specialist to create an explosive device that could be junctioned in the same way that personal weapons can be, essentially making a grenade that could be infused with a particular magical spell.

The device was fashioned around a high-explosive core attached to a stick with an internal ripcord at the base. Hills patented a technique of semi-automated junction magic that allowed for factories to create magically charged weapons in an industrial setting. He set up several production lines and cranked out thousands of bombs with different configurations.

A soldier traditionally carries 4 Hills Bombs attached to their waist, each one colour-coded to ensure the correct effect is used (lightning, ice, fire etc). This allows even magically talentless soldiers to essentially 'cast' high-level magical spells by tossing an elementally charged grenade at their enemies.

This was deemed a cheaper solution than maintaining an expensive and tactically questionable magical training program for low-level troopers, so military commanders were quick to pounce on the new technology. Interestingly one particular variety of the Hills Bomb has been enthusiastically accepted by Galbadian emergency services, who use a reduced-charge variant to fight fires by 'casting' high-level water spells through windows.

Hills' success led to the founding of the Hills Munitions Bureau, a state-sponsored skunkworks facility specialising in applied combat magic. He is currently working on ways to streamline his process far enough that it can be applied to shells, bullets and other munitions at a low enough cost to be practical.

The Hills Bomb is popular among rank-and-file troopers, who colloquially refer to it as 'The Gip'. Interestingly if a soldier is caught calling it a 'Jip' he is made to run laps around the barracks for hours on end until relieved.

 **Galbadian Infantry Equipment (Post Time-Compression):**

 **The 'Icono-Scope' Infantry Helmet:**

These helmets have been an omnipresent part of the Galbadian military since before the First Sorceress War, their iconic red eyes a symbol of the G-Army's dedication to technical innovation. These heavy helmets are designed to survive heavy-calibre bullets and even turn blows from Gunblades or other heavy melee weapons, and have greatly increased survivability among rank-and-file troopers.

The most interesting facet of this design are the four red 'eyes' that are actually camera feeds connected to two TV screens placed in front of the soldier's eyes. Each of these cameras provide a different function, and the soldier can switch between them at will by using a circular dial on the side of the helmet.

The 'north' camera is the so called 'clean feed', which is simply a standard televised feed showing the environment as it would normally look, the 'east' camera is a passive IR system that allows the soldier to perceive light in the infrared spectrum. When combined with a vehicle-mounted IR torch, G-Army troops can fight as effectively at night as they do during the daytime. The 'west' camera is a 'Tactical' feed which imposes a primitive heads-up display allowing soldiers to receive updated orders and objectives visually.

Officer variants make use of the 'south' lens for a TV camera set to record and transmit data back to HQ. This is a feature that is usually switched off by officers who wish to act in ways their superiors might be unable to condone. Most foot-soldiers are not equipped with this function, as it is an expensive addition to the helmet that commanders believe provides little in the way of useful data.

While in theory these helmets are chock-full of vitally useful features, they are _exceptionally_ heavy compared to the protective gear of other armies, and ranged soldiers often ditch them altogether as they are detrimental to your aim. Two of the three cameras are off-centre, which makes trying to aim a ranged weapon with them incredibly difficult. Many speculate that this is the true reason behind Galbadia's reticence to adopt firearms more widely. Whatever the unit's problems, it has come a long way in more than 30 years of service. The first units required a 30lb 'portable' power-pack, and some of the oldest units in service today still use black and white TV screens. However, despite their flaws the helmets are known to be incredibly rugged, with many soldiers noting that they would be a head shorter without theirs.

 **BP161G 'Whisper' Radio-Response Kit:**

After the destruction of Lunar Base and subsequent de-orbiting of Sorceress Adel's tomb, the world shifted in ways that would not be understood fully for some time. Where once broadcasting a signal more than a mile in any direction required an enormous transmitter paired with a significant power source, now the airwaves were unsettlingly quiet. With the silencing of Adel's radiological scream, the world was free to pursue a technology that had been pre-emptively aborted for almost twenty years.

The Galbadians adopted radio technology with an almost manic enthusiasm, finding new ways to utilise the technology on an almost daily basis. Perhaps the most impressive utilisation of this technology was the BP161G, a man-portable radio transceiver built to be everything a G-Army soldier needs in one (relatively) discrete package. Designed to be worn as a backpack by a soldier, the Whisper Kit consisted of a heavy-duty radio transceiver and a self-contained battery pack with a 72 hour charge.

The most common use of these packs is to coordinate the personal radios of soldiers, who can use it to transmit and receive data from anywhere in the Galbadian territories, and further afield if they have field bases or naval support within range. The rest of the squad are issued specially-tuned 'lunchbox' handheld radios that allow them to maintain contact not just with each other but with commanders and intelligence personnel hundreds of miles away from the battlefield. This is a huge boon for scouting and reconnaissance operations, who before now were reliant on hand-delivered reports or data transmitted via cable stations.

While the Whisper Kit is most commonly seen with Infantry units, it can also be used to remotely control other Galbadian technology. A new generation of cruise missiles have been designed with Whisper Kits instead of the primitive course computers that were prone to tampering at their cores. What automated combat platforms were available could be remotely operated (with a minor signal delay) by human pilots, allowing for greater tactical flexibility.

They are also an excellent morale-boosting tool among G-Army troopers, who can link them to commercially purchased portable TVs to watch their favourite TV shows anywhere in the world. This is not strictly allowed by the Army, but most officers are smart enough to turn a blind eye as long as discipline is maintained.

 **Automated Combat Platforms (Post Time-Compression):**

 **GIM48B (Stationary Deterrence Project):**

Galbadia's unmanned robotic units were drastically scaled back after the Second Sorceress War, with the decrepit GIM47N walker being aggressively retired. It was a resource-intensive yellow juggernaut that was too slow to react to modern opponents, armed only with steel 'fists' connected to shock-absorbers. Many G-Army units referred to them as 'Chunkies' as the placid yellow 'face' of the unit reminded them of a popular children's TV character known for his lumpy physique.

The units were outdated by the start of the war, and practically ignored in favour of the fast and agile GIM52A units by prudent commanders. However, with the G-Army's new focus on defence over aggression, they found a new use for these ancient clunkers.

They built concrete bunkers at key checkpoints throughout Galbadia, tore the arms and legs off of GIM47Ns and essentially buried them into the concrete structures. The IFF programs that allowed the unit to select targets were still perfectly viable, so they mounted heavy machine guns to the arm sockets of the unit and used them as automated checkpoint guards. With a steady supply of ammunition and the occasional looking over by an engineer, these units could serve in their new capacity for many years, freeing up human soldiers to be deployed to more important positions.

These simplistic turrets _are_ able to detect friend from foe, but most commanders prefer to keep them turned off until needed, for fear of a catastrophic software failure turning a family automobile into a pre-cooked tin of processed civilian…

 **GIM52A and GIM52F:**

The GIM52A was one of the most successful automated combat units of the Second Sorceress War, able to provide lightning-fast combat support to Infantry units across any terrain. They carried several powerful weapons systems and were capable of engaging targets at range or in melee. However, the true key to their success was the addition of a back-mounted turbine unit allowing the unit to 'skim' above the ground at incredibly high speeds. In practice this made GIM52As able to keep up with armoured columns and outpace enemy vehicles with little effort.

The GIM52A was used to great effect when the Lunatic Pandora passed over the city of Esthar. While many G-Army units struggled to navigate the labyrinthine passages and skyways, GIM52A units simply took flying leaps from one level of the city to another. This allowed them to act rapidly enough to counteract even the incredibly mobile Esther Peacemakers on their home turf. These hyper-mobile skirmishers were often the first unit on the ground in any fight, eventually being reinforced by other, slower units as time passed.

The only true drawback of the unit was the fact that beyond short 'jumps' the GIM52A could not be considered a true flying combat unit. G-Army commanders truly appreciated the potential of a weapons platform like this which could attack from above with the same ferocity as it did on the ground. The Paratrooper Corps were especially interested in a variant of this machine that could accompany and protect them while in transit to their targets, and provide heavy weapons support when they arrived.

To that end Galbadian engineers created the F-Variant, which switched out the existing turbine with a slightly miniaturized version of those mounted to Paratrooper gyro-platforms. This allowed the F-Variant to achieve true flight. The first units were less than optimal however, as all of their weapons systems and VI routines were designed to operate at ground level, and the first batch of F-Variants were unable to target ground units from above. After nearly two years of VI rewrites and some tinkering with missile loadouts and beam focusing-arrays, the GIM52F was officially adopted as an air superiority drone, coordinating with Paratrooper platforms to provide close air support to ground units as well as engage other air threats.

Given the nature of Paratrooper work, they were also designed to smash their way into buildings through windows and weak walls to provide fire-support to troopers in highly contested areas. All-in-all the GIM52F was a valuable asset to those teams that could get hold of them, but they were fairly rare in the new Galbadia, and had to be carefully rationed by commanders. The only saving grace is that existing GIM52A units could be retrofitted to F-status with a dedicated machine shop, so many older units were refitted as time went on.

 **Galbadian Military Vehicles (Post Time-Compression):**

 **BOS49G 'Botfly' Gyro-Platform:**

The Botfly was introduced to the G-Army two years before the Second Sorceress War, as a reconnaissance platform for scouts. They are a lightly armoured frame built around a turbine and a complex gyroscopic stabiliser. This unit is designed to take a human pilot and allow them to remain airborne for 8 hours before refuelling. While the unit was originally designed for solo reconnaissance work, General Fury Caraway saw hidden potential in these highly mobile platforms and put together a proposal for a new division of the army that would make heavy use of them.

General Caraway was generally distrustful of robotic support units, and preferred to use flesh-and-blood soldiers wherever he could. To that end he twinned the new Gyro-Platforms with a specially trained cadre of soldiers who would pilot them into battle. The concept was bold and aggressive, and recruits were often selected based on recklessness and bravery over raw technical skill. The idea was to use the new Paratrooper Corps to fly behind enemy lines and kill or incapacitate the key assets of the enemy, thus robbing them of their will to fight.

Paratroopers would search for likely points of ingress (windows, shallow walls etc) and anchor the Platform above them, rappelling down to blast a hole in their entry point. The idea was to have the Paratroopers strike so quickly and fiercely that it would throw the enemy into confusion and hopefully rob them of several key assets before they could properly entrench themselves.

The newly minted Paratroopers christened their platforms 'Botflies' and spent much of their spare time practicing with and maintaining these unique machines. They often engaged in amateur tinkering, to the point where no two Botflies were exactly alike (making them the bane of G-Army engineers assigned to their _actual_ upkeep). The Paratroopers were the archetypal flyboys, preening and proud of their unique position and the technology that placed them (in their minds) above the rank-and-file troopers.

While Caraway's 'Lightning-War' doctrine was theoretically brilliant, it was largely untested in _actual_ combat. The first major victory of the Paratrooper Corps was taken shortly after Caraway was placed under house arrest by the Sorceress Edea for his suspected part in her assassination attempt.

Galbadia Garden was famously taken in less than 6 hours due in no small part to a Paratrooper squadron who rappelled into the Headmaster's Office and demanded that Headmaster Martine called for a general surrender. Martine willingly conceded, compelling the SeeD trainees to throw down their weapons. The defending forces then either surrendered or melted away into the nearby forests, leaving the Garden free to be re-purposed as the Sorceress' base of operations.

After the events of Time Compression, the Paratroopers were re-organised and re-equipped with more modern weapons, as many felt unprotected in actual combat situations. Many made extensive use of the GA-13 Nobleman Pistol, which could be fired one handed by a sufficiently experienced user. The Botfly was upgraded with external handholds enabling three troopers to share a unit at once, with the other two soldiers often acting as gunners for the unarmoured pilot.

They made heavy use of GIM52F units to protect them from threats on the ground as they flew, and eventually they were seen as a crucial part of G-Army tactics. Rather than rolling over an enemy with weight of numbers, modern G-Army tactics use Caraway's 'Lightning-War' doctrine which calls for speedy attacks on all levels of the battlefield at once to keep an enemy off-balance.

The Paratrooper Corps have since become Galbadia's most prestigious and important special forces unit, undertaking extensive training to neutralise a whole variety of threats. The thing that no Galbadian wants to admit is that they are hoping the Paratrooper Corps will eventually be able to respond to the immense threat of a SeeD attack, something that the G-Army currently has no effective counter for.

One thing is for sure though, the BOS49G 'Botfly' is now one of the most important light vehicles in the Galbadian Military. Originally a somewhat throwaway design for taking pictures of enemy positions and scanning for enemy troop formations, it has quickly grown to be an invaluable combat armature that can always be found wherever the action is thickest.

 **BGM Series 'Ironclad' Heavy Tank:**

The Ironclad is Galbadia's Main Battle Tank, an incredibly heavy bruiser of a vehicle that can survive missile attacks, enraged SeeDs and anything else the world cares to throw at it. The original prototype was famously recovered from the bombed-out ruins of a missile base before being restored to functionality to take part in the Occupation of Fisherman's Horizon, where it was abandoned by a group of SeeD infiltrators who had used it as an impromptu bunker to survive the base's destruction.

The armour plating of this incredibly tough beast is thick enough that no conventional weapon yet discovered can penetrate it effectively, and it has several impressive weapons systems to boot. The Ironclad is able to defend itself against any potential attacker and ensure that anyone who even _looks_ at it funny is guaranteed to get a bloody nose.

If the vehicle has a weakness, it is the six exhaust tubes that vent the excessive heat from the engines and weapons systems. These tubes are as well armoured as the rest of the machine, but the complex internal mechanisms can fuse together and cause internal explosions if sufficiently jolted by external attacks. Later models focused on two larger exhaust tubes extending horizontally from the rear of the tank, but this was really just moving the problem slightly out of sight rather than actually fixing it. The truth is that a weapon as heavy and powerful as the BGM is _always_ going to generate an excessive amount of waste heat, and any move to ameliorate this will inevitably result in either a visible weakness or a noticeable drop in power.

These problems aside, the BGM is still a _nightmare_ for enemy infantry and armour, with a surprisingly nimble turning circle and a truly frightening amount of firepower this machine is not to be toyed with. SeeD forces have some limited experience fighting these steel beasts, and smart instructors sum up their advice for going up against one of these beasts succinctly: _Don't_.

That being said, the Ironclad lacks turreted weapons, and therefore must be facing its target to affect a hit. This allows smarter combatants to seek high ground to attack it. The ideal way to deal with these behemoths is to lead them into a specific area where you can plant explosives that will burst as the tank passes over them. The BGM uses four turbo-charged fans and an air-skirt to travel, so blowing up one or more of these fans will likely stop the tank altogether.

These vehicles are incredibly expensive to build and maintain, so the G-Army tends to hold them in reserve and only deploy them in crucial situations. This makes them a rare sight on the modern battlefield, as the odd monster attack doesn't _really_ qualify.

A variant of the BGM 'Ironclad' is currently being designed that will replace all of the existing weapons systems in favour of a rotating turret capable of mounting several different modular kits, allowing the tank to specialise. However, development is slow going as funding for the project is sporadic, with many senators questioning the necessity of such a resource-heavy beast in peacetime.


	7. Chapter 7: Centra: An Overview

_Author's Note: So, this story hasn't been updated for a little while because I didn't know which direction to move in, so this chapter may concordantly have something of a mish-mashy tone to it. That'll mostly be because it's actually sewn together from bits of other chapters that I've been writing and have just gotten stuck on or not been willing to pursue fully yet._

 _However, this is actually the first chapter to contain both a story-fragment AND a technical primer document (the two are not as easily related to each other as the others might have been, but there's a_ _slim_ _justification in there…)._

 _This chapter's story-fragment is a someone plot-free little slice-of-life for two characters who deserved a win after all that crap they went through in the game._

 _This chapter's tech-primer is about the continent of Centra, seemingly the most important place in the whole world that nobody apparently wants to talk about…_

 _More world-building for me then, I suppose._

 _I wanted to dwell on a couple of things that I really liked in this game in particular, and one thing that I like from FF games more generally._

 _The former point is the Gardens, I still remember the scene when I first saw the Garden spring to life and start flying as one of the most impressive things I'd ever seen. I still think it holds up, to be honest. As much as the layout of the Garden doesn't make a lick of sense if you actually look at it in any great detail (where does that pilot's elevator come from? You can't see it from the atrium?) the notion of a village-sized building just floating on a giant fancy ring is a pretty compelling one. I think the fact that it's so old that nobody even remembers that it does that is especially compelling. If Centrans could just abandon something like this, imagine what they would have_ _actually cared about keeping…_ _I also threw in some Battlestar Galactica references along with some more historical ones too (specifically the Krakatoa eruption of 1883 and the popular myth of the Man-Eating Tree)._

 _The latter point is the Tonberry. Kind of a joke enemy that just turns into this punishingly hard battle of attrition. I wanted to see if I could make them more serious without having to actually change anything about them. My chief inspiration for this passage was the Bikura from Dan Simmons' Hyperion. Definitely worth a read to just about anyone, honestly do not have enough praise for that book._

 _Anyway, quite a lot going on in this chapter and I'd_ _really_ _appreciate any feedback you guys have for me, I honestly would._

 **Time Compression +4 years, 3 months, 9 days:**

The gulls snapped angrily at each other over scraps of discarded trash near the small open window of the repair shop. The brown-shirted mechanic pulled lumps of engine matter desiccated by rust out of the ruins of an old hot-rod.

"Useless piece of junk! How can you expect to run a car near all this damn _saltwater?!_ "

He wrenched out a waterlogged spark-plug with an audible _shlorp_ noise and tossed it irritably into a dark corner.

"And what's with all these crappy tools they keep giving me?!"

He tossed his hands up in frustration and stalked over to his workbench, where a sandwich had been placed along with a bottle of beer. He saw the napkin provided and used it to grab the bread without covering it in grease, taking a big bite and cracking the beer open on the steel counter-edge.

He took a grateful glug of the lager as he looked at the car with dismay. The owner was expecting it to be fighting-fit in two days, and Biggs would need at _least_ that to source the necessary replacement parts…

His thoughts were interrupted by the tinny jingle of the shop's doorbell in the front room.

"Yo, anyone in here? _Hellooooo?_ "

Biggs waited a good ten seconds in the hopes that he wouldn't have to get that, but the interlopers remained stubbornly un-dealt with. He huffed petulantly and dumped the rest of his sandwich on the delicate china plate it had been served on.

He stormed through into the reception area of _Biggs' Major Mechatronics_ and saw two young people with T-Boards under their arms.

" _Hyne do I hate those bloody things…_ " Biggs thought to himself.

A pretty girl with a long ponytail was conversing with what Biggs assumed was her boyfriend, who was facing away from the mechanic. She saw Biggs emerging from the garage like an oil-soaked Wendigo and pointed at him, nudging the other customer's shoulder.

The boyfriend turned around and Biggs saw a lurid and familiar-looking facial tattoo tha-

" _YOU!_ "

They both screamed at the same time as Zell dropped his broken T-Board to affect a combat stance.

Biggs dove over the wooden counter like an action movie hero and then painfully collided with the ground behind it. He gave a _decidedly_ unheroic wheeze and scrambled towards the Officer's shoulder-kit he kept stashed for emergencies.

The commotion drew thunderous footsteps from above and the man Zell assumed to be Wedge practically threw himself down the stairs in a flailing cluster of limbs. He saw the scene of impeding carnage and surveyed it with confusion.

"What the _hell_ is going on down here?!"

Zell turned to face his new opponent, his eyes nearly popping clean out of his head with shock and battle-fury. Wedge placed himself next to the counter and peered over to find Biggs still scrambling through the shelves looking for bits and pieces, wheezing and cursing under his breath.

"Zell… What's going on? Who are these men?"

The girl with the ponytail was standing quizzically in the corner, smartly selecting a position that would place her outside her boyfriend's fearsome melee range. She grasped her own T-Board over her chest as impromptu armour-plating.

Sensing that no imminent danger was forthcoming, Wedge elected to work on defusing the tension.

"That depends, Miss. Are the two of you here to cause trouble?"

Wedge reached calmly under the counter and grabbed his old A-Pattern Army Sabre, placing it on the counter just in case. The girl looked at the sword, and then at her boyfriend, who was beginning to look a bit sheepish.

"Umm… No. We were looking for… uh… someone to fix my T-Board. We're vacationing."

Wedge took Zell's explanation at face value and visibly relaxed, placing the sword back under the counter. He slipped easily into customer service mode as if he'd been doing it all his life.

"Oh, that's _nice_. How long are you two in FH?"

He strolled over and scooped up the broken T-Board to give it a quick appraisal, having no technical knowledge to speak of but checking for obvious problems.

"We're uh… Mostly passing through on our way to Galbadia. Road tripping, really…"

Wedge couldn't see anything conspicuously wrong with the board, but he left this sort of thing to the Mechanic anyway. He absentmindedly wondered what he was still doing under that counter when with a thundering _crash_ the battle was rejoined.

Biggs threw himself up to a kneeling position, wearing a full G-Army Issue Officer's Shoulder-Kit, the heavy-pauldrons leading down to two vicious sub-machinegun gauntlets. He slapped his right hand onto the counter, pointed aggressively at the two SeeDs. He wheezed something that might have sounded badass if he hadn't been so winded, and triumphantly held down the trigger.

Zell had just enough time to cry out in shock before…

…

…

…

Nothing.

After several seconds of tense silence, punctuated with the odd frustrated _click_ as Biggs tried to will the gun to fire… The two SeeDs found themselves curiously unperforated. Wedge sighed despairingly and stood in his partner's line of fire, putting his hands up in a 'we'll come quietly' gesture.

"Don't mind him, Sir… He just gets a little _testy_ at times like this."

Biggs issued a wheeze that nobody save Wedge could interpret, which caused the ever-diplomatic ex-soldier to purse his lips patiently.

"Because I unloaded it nearly _two years ago_. It isn't safe to leave a loaded firearm on a shelf, and you know that just as well as I do."

Wedge's calm tone seemed to visibly deflate his former CO, who slumped petulantly and focused on coughing until his ribs knocked themselves back into alignment.

"Umm… Zell, should I call someone? You know the rules about fighting in the town, right? Why are we starting a diplomatic incident over these two?"

Zell came to realise the absurdity of the situation and uncurled his fists, putting one hand on his hip and rubbing the back of his head sheepishly with the other.

"Uh… nah, don't worry about it, babe… These two are… _were_ G-Army back in the day. Biggs and Wedge, right?"

Biggs stood up and make an uncomfortably wet hacking noise in his throat, while Wedge offered a hand for a prim handshake, which both SeeDs accepted casually.

"Well, sir… _Technically_ it's Biggs and Biggs now, but for brevity's sake Wedge is fine."

Zell made a little noise of quaint surprise before answering.

"Oh. _Oh._ Congratulations, I was wondering what you two were going to do after quitting the army. How did you even get out of the Lunatic Pandora, anyway?"

Zell's ponytailed paramour dropped her jaw in surprise.

"Hang on, these two were there when you attacked the Crystal Pillar?!" She immediately darted forward and grabbed Biggs by his steel gauntlet.

"Tell. Me. _Everything._ Zell can hardly remember a _thing_ he was so hopped up on adrenaline! What was it _really_ like in there?!"

Biggs' face perfectly conveyed a blend of irritation and confusion as he regarded the unusually chirpy SeeD girl.

"It was alright, I suppose…"

Wedge's own brow furrowed in confusion as he picked apart Zell's sentence.

"Wait… how did you know we decided to desert on Lunatic Pandora? How did you even know we were _stationed_ there?"

Zell laughed raucously as if he were having a drink with old friends rather than a standoff with old enemies.

"We were _literally_ standing right behind you when it happened. Biggs was doing some kinda repair work on a console and just stormed off in a huff, ordering you to go get a drink with him. It was pretty weird, actually… I mean, we'd just driven a damn _spaceship_ through the outer hull not 100 feet from you…"

Wedge's face radiated palpable shock at this revelation.

"Honestly… I think my ears were still ringing after all those explosions… I genuinely don't know what to say… Well if you saw _that_ , there isn't any point keeping the rest of it from you. We hijacked a couple of Botflies to make our escape, promptly crashed them into sand dunes, and spent the next three weeks walking west. We found the Rail bridge, and by the time we got to FH we were probably halfway to dead…"

Biggs shuffled uncomfortably in his position, then went over to grab the broken T-Board, letting his mechanical instincts take over as Wedge continued their story.

"I thought that a couple of G-Army soldiers too weak to hold their weapons would be taking a long walk off of a short pier before the sun went down, but the townsfolk took us in and tended our wounds. We were bedridden for about a month, and the first thing _he_ does when we're on our feet is barge me into the tavern for this drink he promised nearly two months ago!"

Wedge smiled knowingly and folded his arms as Biggs starts poring over the guts of the T-Board.

"As you _may_ have inferred, I count that as our first date. We talked about a lot of things, but mostly we talked about where we should go next. I knew there was something not being said when neither of us had any thoughts about going our separate ways…"

Biggs had by this point enlisted Zell's girlfriend as an assistant and was getting her to hold open the engine casing while he rummaged around in its arcane guts.

"We stayed here. Best damn town in the whole world. Never gonna leave. _Never._ "

Biggs said this with an undercurrent of emotion that his face didn't convey, and Wedge nodded solemnly in response. With a twist of his meaty hand something snapped inside the board, and Zell winced at the thought of his most prized possession being manhandled by a G-Army Commandante (former or otherwise…). Wedge continued, smiling at his partner's curmudgeonly ways.

"He's a 'proud local' now, though you'd never know it. Anyway… We stayed. Nobody said a word. Two months earlier they'd had G-Army soldiers threatening to burn their homes to the ground and _not one of them_ said a single word against us… So, we settled down and made a life here. Took me more than a year to stop calling him 'Sir' but we got used to it."

"Speak for yourself, I wouldn't mind a little more of the ' _Sir_ ' every once in a while…"

Biggs offered this thought morosely as he yanked out the rear anti-grav unit, a chunky disc attached to a yellow battery-casing. Wedge rolled his eyes while smirking.

Wedge looked at his mechanic's gaze and correctly assumed that something important had happened. "Well, it looks like we've found the issue at least. Thoughts?"

Biggs sucked his teeth in the time-honoured fashion of auto-mechanics everywhere.

"Yeah… The problem is these janky Estherian float-boxes. They look all fancy, but they'll fall to pieces after a month without fail. You want good old-fashioned turbines for a board like this…"

Zell snorted dismissively, his inner gear-head rising to the fore. Both Wedge and the girl Zell came in with rolled their eyes reflexively, all too aware of what was coming.

"You're talkin' out of your ass, I've seen those things hold up _Gardens_ for crap's sake!"

Wedge made a point of turning away from the impending argument, motioning for the girl to follow him through to the kitchenette with the universal hand gesture for 'coffee?' She assented with a somewhat tired smile and followed. He flipped a couple of chrome switches on his beloved coffee machine, which in turn responded with a happy burbling noise. He smoothly prepared an espresso for his guest and a big milky latte for himself (hey, civilian life had to have _some_ perks, right?)

"So, I never did catch your name?"

 **Garden Historical Database Entry A/14:**

 **The History of the Eternal Centran Empire: An Overview**

The 'Eternal' Centran Empire was a civilization that had persisted in one form or another for more than 4000 years, spreading ideas, philosophies and technologies that would kickstart true human civilization across the entire planet. They originally lived in small villages or settlements that would be packed up and moved with the seasons, following game and fertile grounds in cyclical patterns that were rigidly adhered to by tribal leaders. They are believed to have persisted in these patterns for many thousands of years before eventually being unified under the rule of the Sorceress Temuj, who took the title _Fiero Khanoum_ in recognition of her complete dominion over the tribes (Khanoum was an ancient Centran term that can be loosely translated as 'Queen' or 'Empress').

This hardy culture would go on to spread across the planet, always at the behest of a Sorceress. Those who did not wish to follow the Sorceress were free to take their leave (for the most part) and went on to found other empires in other parts of the world. While none of them could boast the sheer longevity of the Centrans, they did eventually form those cultures that define the world we live in today.

 **The Founding of the Empire:**

Orthodoxy states that the Warlord Fiero Khanoum took over the continent by using her unnatural magical powers to terrify the tribes into submission, but few historical documents of note corroborate this. Indeed, the Khanoum actually seemed reticent to exercise her power if it could be helped at all. Besides, she took territory in all directions in her wars of consolidation, and it is quite impossible for a single Sorceress to be everywhere at once.

From a military perspective the more decisive factor was probably the use of mounted cavalry forces provided by Artos of Krem, the leader of an order of ascetic warrior monks who rode tamed Chocobos into battle. Artos was said to have drilled man and bird with equal ferocity, robbing the normally skittish animals of any hesitation or fear in the face of the enemy. While most modern Chocobos are friendly to the point of pathologically tame, the birds of those days were wilder and more aggressive. The Chocobos he would have rode had thicker, tougher beaks and were not averse to eating meat where they could get it. While principally omnivorous scavengers (much as they are today), they were not above chasing down a foe and biting clean through its armour to get at the meat inside.

A personal diary written by one of Artos' scribes sheds some light on the circumstances that brought the him into contact with the Sorceress:

 _For three nights we deviated from our appointed course, with brave Artos often no more than a plume of dust being pulled down into the horizon. Sore as we all were, none thought to break from what we now knew to be a pursuit of our wayward Great Schema._

 _On the morning of the fourth day we were pleased to find that the chase had ended, as Artos' bird lay gasping for air and feed on the edge of a woodland glade. We arrived in good time to see Artos leap bodily from the bird's back and scramble into the trees, and Trotos, Arame and I were selected to follow him._

 _So it was that we found ourselves beholding a pool of clear water, which Artos waded into until the flow was about his waist. There he stopped as if caught in the gaze of a Ya-Te-Veo*, unable or unwilling to move. We beheld her shortly after and were struck equally as dumb by the site. She stood alone washing herself in the stream, and with shame I admit myself taken with her beauty. She looked to Artos as if expecting him, and walked to him without fear. After days at the saddle, I have no doubt we all looked and smelled fearsome and wild to a creature such as her, but she only smiled._

" _Whatever be thy name, I would have it known that I love thee entirely. Art thou an angel? Or merely a trick of the mind? It matters not if only you will speak, Nymph."_

 _Artos spoke these words with a sense of wonder I had never heard of him, and I was humbled further for my impure thoughts towards the water-spirit. She said nothing, merely taking him into an embrace as tender as if they had been joined years ago._

 _This was how we were sworn into the service of the Daughter of Hyne, and each of the Order accepted her dominion without hesitation._

 _*The Ya-Te-Veo alluded to here is believed to be a now extinct variation of the modern Malboro, which was said to exude a smoke that entranced victims, compelling them to walk placidly into its mouth._

Once Artos' order was added to the Khanoum's regular forces, she began aggressively ranging out of her strongholds in the Kabari Plains (sadly no longer above sea-level) and taking territory in all directions. The key to her army's success was the fact that her advance forces didn't require supply lines or other logistical concerns. Artos' troops were used to riding for weeks without supply, subsisting on game and Chocobo eggs from their mounts when game was sparse. Though small in number, their mounts meant that they were more than a match for any individual village or warband.

It was often remarked that the Khanoum's armies only arrived in a territory once all the fighting was over. This was perhaps something of an oversimplification but one with a kernel of truth to it. Fiero Khanoum's troops were therefore trained and prepared to be administrators and protectors of the new territories rather than aggressors.

Within 15 years, Fiero and Artos had conquered most of the continent, barring a scant few desert tribes hanging onto lands so bereft of resources that they were hardly worth bothering with. The Sorceress had built an empire, and crucially had done so with a Knight at her side. To this day the mythology of Sorceresses often leave room for the character of The Knight, a champion selected by fate to love an inhuman Goddess. Whether there is any truth to the stories of a supernatural pseudo-magical bond between Sorceresses and their chosen Knights, they are a quiet but eerily consistent part of the history of the Sorceresses.

It is said that when Artos died, his holy sword was passed down among generations of Sorceress' Knights, further cementing the claim that these inscrutable and unusual men were imbued with Fate's Blessing. Unfortunately, the location of Artos' fabled _Zantetsuken_ was lost in the events of the Lunar Cry and is unlikely to be recovered.

 **The Centran Empire at the turn of the Last Century:**

The Empire built cities and trade routes steadily over the next 4000 years, inventing everything from calendars and written languages to motor-cars and anti-gravity technology. They spread out across the planet, seeding communities that would grow into the Dollet Empire in the West and mysterious Esther in the East.

The only consistent part of the Centran Bureaucracy was the leadership of Sorceresses, who would be sought out if they were not readily available. Sorceresses would carefully curate lines of succession by selecting their preferred candidates in youth and grooming them to inherit magical potential at the time of their forebear's death. The genealogy of Sorcery was therefore a full-time occupation for many of the city's political class.

Other civilizations emerged in other corners of the world and fell in their due courses, while the Empire persisted. Many competing theories abound regarding the remarkable resilience of the Empire, but the Sorceresses themselves believed that once a society stopped moving, it was doomed to be overtaken. They took this somewhat literally, having entire cities ritually deconstructed and moved to new locations periodically. While many would assume that such a wasteful upheaval would spell death to any society, it actually seems to have worked as intended. Centran architecture was originally designed to be modular, entire buildings being collapsed and bolted back together when necessary. Later mechanical revolutions allowed for entire buildings to be rolled along on mechanical tank tracks, and the invention of the Centran Halo allowed for entire towns to hover serenely over the landscape.

That isn't to say that people didn't live sedentary lives, but this was mostly confined to the working classes, with the Empire's true power contained within its enormous floating fortresses. Little of this architecture survives to this day, but those examples that do persist are often remarked to be as strong and ornate today as they were 100 years ago. It would seem that Centran architects still have much to teach us even now.

 **The Death of the Empire:**

Unfortunately, the 'Eternal' Empire was not to last. While there have been Lunar Cries roughly once a century for all of recorded history, the one that struck the Centran Mainland in the fifth month of 4282 AU (After Unification) is commonly regarded to be the most violent ever recorded. The Cry itself happened at 10:47 AM, striking the Kabari Plains and unleashing a maelstrom of violence as monsters were flung hundreds of miles in all directions by the prevailing magical discharge.

Records recently released by the Esther government show that the most likely cause of this Cry's unusual severity was the Crystal Pillar, a colossal chunk of mineral matter carried to the surface from the Moon itself. This enormous structure resonates with a particular magical 'frequency' that seems related to the Cries themselves. When the Pillar made landfall, it was immediately followed by a magical discharge that seismologists registered all over the world. This shockwave was so strong it passed around the entire planet no less than eight times before dissipating. The immediate effects were a temporary disruption of certain radioactivity spectrums in particular materials, notably those pertaining to Infused Hypro-Caesic Alloys (IHCAs) which lasted roughly an hour.

Unfortunately, these particular alloys are a crucial component of all anti-gravity technologies, particularly the Centran Halo.

The flying cities of the Centran Empire came crashing down to the surface, destroying much of the Empire's crucial infrastructure (and the nearby countryside) in one fell swoop. Those who survived the initial crash were overwhelmed by ravenous monsters within minutes, often taken entirely by surprise as the swarms forced themselves outward looking to escape the crush of bodies behind them. Those living on the ground fared no better, unable to defend themselves against the sheer weight of Lunar monsters. Those vessels still at sea did not fare much better, sinking to the bottom of the ocean like stones without their Haloes.

If this were not enough, the force and shock of the Cry caused the formerly dormant Mount Olum to violently explode, tossing such a quantity of volcanic ash into the skies that the _entire planet_ was cooled by three degrees Celsius for at least _five years_ after the fact. The eruption was so cataclysmic that it shattered the continent's tectonic plate and sank the entire Kabari region into the depths of the sea. The sound of the explosion was heard in Northern Trabia as a clear gunshot, and in Esther City the blast shook windows out of their frames and caused several riots as scared civilians took to looting essential supplies for what they believed to be an imminent apocalypse.

Within a month, the Continent of Centra was considered to be entirely bereft of Human life, the only survivors being those coastal villagers who survived the tsunamis and launched their boats before the monsters overran them. These survivors numbered less than 50000, from a civilization that had consisted of more than 400 million souls less than a year earlier. A single aging Centran battleship guided the survivors to the western coast of Esther after more than two months at sea, after which it was scuttled along with the other ships.

Their ancestral home was considered a Natural Exclusion Zone for the next 30 years, as the surviving Lunar monsters ate every scrap of organic matter before turning on themselves in a cannibalistic orgy of pure destruction. Those who had escaped this disaster made no attempt to assert their identity as Centrans and drifted across the world trying to live as quietly as possible. Even as most of their history and culture was lost, they made no attempt to preserve what little they had left.

Their self-imposed wall of silence was so complete that the only first-hand account of the disaster came from a minor functionary of the Dollet Dukedom, who was lucky enough to find himself on one of those vessels fated to escape the cataclysm. He described the final days of the Empire as being ones of paranoia and insular scheming. The Sorceress Athelia and her Knight had apparently retired to a great laboratory in the wilds to embark on a magical experiment that had left the Empire with no leadership at a crucial moment.

The Centrans evidently believed that their Sorceress had somehow planned for or even _actively instigated_ the catastrophe that murdered their entire civilization. However, the diplomat did add that there was no _actual_ evidence of any of this, as it was merely the strongly held opinion of the survivors.

Unbeknownst to the survivors, three Centran Halo-ships survived the extinction event by virtue of being docked for maintenance far away from the mainland at the time. They were abandoned by their crews and forgotten by the world at large until the Garden Organisation refurbished them for use as training academies, unaware of their true purpose or abilities. While one of these vessels was rendered permanently inoperable by Galbadian Cruise Missiles in the opening days of the Second Sorceress War, the remaining Gardens have since been restored to full working order by the Garden Organisation.

 **The Modern Centra:**

After the 30-year quarantine was over, people began to cautiously make their way back to the abandoned continent in dribs and drabs. Government-sponsored surveyor teams shared boats with opportunistic treasure-hunters in their rush to get a look at the ruined landscape. They arrived on a shore that looked as if it had never been inhabited by Man. All evidence of human habitation had long since been ground into dust or buried under deep ash flows. What remained was an untouched wasteland, mostly poisoned and crawling with dangers. While most of the Lunar monsters had long since eaten each other, the surviving monsters (native and foreign) were now the toughest of the tough.

Many of the initial explorers were simply swallowed up by the new island chains that were once the Kabari Plains, unable to compete with the vicious and territorial wildlife. Those who persisted were eventually able to eke out a hard-scrabble living along the coastlines, and these shantytowns became a hotspot for smugglers, pirates and criminals of all shades looking for a place to hide out. The various great militaries of the surviving world powers saw no way of actually retaking and protecting the Centran territories, so they were simply left to nature. After decades of healing and conservation projects, the wildlife is starting to return to something approaching pre-Cry levels, with many forests starting to once again take root in the Southern Reaches of Lenown.

However, the cities and structures of the Centran Empire are for the most part entirely gone, with only a scant few outposts surviving by some strange quirk of fate. These structures exude an aura of palpable menace, and even the most seasoned of natives won't go near them. The irony being that they are mostly descended from fortune seekers who came to Centra looking for these very sites. Some opine that those who lacked a healthy respect for the ruins were not around long enough to propagate their bloodlines, but they also concede that there are probably amazing treasures buried within reach.

 **The Centran Halo:**

The height of the Centrans' technological arts, the Centran Halo is a masterwork of mechanical engineering that looks like Sorceress-level Magic to the uninitiated. The knowledge necessary to recreate these devices is no longer known in anything but a theoretical sense, with only Estherian scientists able to recreate the phenomenon on a much smaller (and less useful) scale.

The technology consists of a solid ring of Infused Hypro-Caesic Alloy (the precise isotope used is no longer known) that selectively negates gravity when charged. These colossal structures turn electrical energy into directional anti-gravity fields that allow even city-sized structures to hover serenely over the landscape. Paired with a complex Centran gyroscopic stabilization unit, these ships can drift over uneven ground in such a way as to completely negate turbulence or altitude variation.

Estherian technology companies have been able to produce much smaller units of limited utility that allow man-portable sleds to hover a foot or so off the ground. These boards are little more than interesting toys though, disregarded as without utility by transport firms. Many Estherian car manufacturers utilise these miniaturised Halos to create roadcars that are well suited to the glass-smooth highways of the Great City, but would be the first to admit that their utility decreases exponentially outside of the city limits. The rest of the world knows them as the key lift generator for T-Boards, a simple hover-sled popular with extreme sports enthusiasts.

The key issue with reproducing these ancient machines is a lack of knowledge regarding the precise chemical formula necessary for synthesizing the IHCAs used. The only source of unused alloys is the now permanently grounded Trabia Garden, but the Garden Organization viciously guards the site, stating that any attempts to breach T-Garden's perimeter would constitute an act of war against SeeD.

Part of this protectiveness is the spiritual importance of the site to SeeD as a place to bury their dead, but they are also acutely aware of the tactical value of the ruined Centran technology within. They may also need those resources to repair the other two Gardens in case of serious mechanical failure, something that they are constantly bearing in mind when thinking of the aging Balamb Garden.

Whatever the reasons, the reintroduction of Centran Halo technology to the world has prompted an enormous interest in archaeology, with several expeditions ranging across the forgotten continent every year in search of some forgotten tidbit of knowledge.

Some of them do come back, occasionally with all of the parts they set off with.

 **The Tonberry: Centra's Silent Pilgrim**

The wildlife of Centra is even now deeply divergent from all of the other continents, with several mutations and aberrations that make them even more dangerous than their distant cousins on other landmasses. There is however one form of life that is entirely without precedent, one with no prior history or genetic relations.

The humble-looking Tonberry is a simple pseudo-humanoid, standing about four feet in height and garbed in the burlap trappings of an old Monk. There exists no record of these beings in any bestiary or document written before the Lunar Cry that destroyed Centra, but they also have nothing in common with those creatures from the Moon that pollute any ecosystem they enter.

Physically, the Tonberries all seem to be exactly alike in physical appearance, to the point where it is impossible to differentiate them by gender or any other signifier. Certainly, researchers have noted that they participate in limited ritual behaviour, walking through ruins carefully with the air of ancient holy men.

Locals view them as the most unsettling feature of the new Centra, their apparent harmlessly and infantile obliviousness hiding something hideously unnatural. There is also the fact that if humans interrupt a Tonberry in the middle of it's rituals (by walking across their path or moving something that they do not wish to be moved) the Tonberry will invariably (if slowly) attack and kill the interloper. Those who wish to defend themselves will find that the Tonberry possesses an abnormal regenerative ability that knits together ruined tissue quicker than most weapons can ruin it. Even seasoned soldiers with magical or technological support will often just flee the field rather than try to actually kill them.

The only researcher to have made a substantive study of these strange creatures was a Priest of Hyne by the name of Father Grengor Hallain, who was travelling with an archaeological expedition through the great and nameless octahedral ruins (colloquially referred to as 'Blue Heaven' nowadays). Below are transcribed entries from his journal, recovered some twenty miles south of the ruins along with his body.

 _ **Day 42:**_

 _Jonah, my old friend. I've much to atone for this morning._

 _They're all dead. My friends and colleagues. Their throats cut in the night and me powerless to stop any of it._

 _The little green ones in cassocks. We'd been_ _so very careful_ _, trying to set up camp far away from their little patrols. It wasn't enough, they must have decided to come to this section of the ruins and found us… 'in their way'._

 _They move so quietly, not so much as a rustle from those cloaks as they walked calmly among us, opening a throat here or there without so much as a peep._

 _I know because I watched it happen… I woke midway through the grizzly job and was too paralysed with fear to do anything (my_ _shame_ _, Jonah… I am trapped under the sheer weight of it). I'm sure they knew full well that I was there, but they never so much as looked at me. By the time the sun was rising they were done, ambling onward in that strange, childish way that they do._

 _I am committed to following them._

 _It is all that I can do. If I can understand what happened, I can prevent it from happening to anyone else. I think my friends would be satisfied with that much, at least. I buried them and gave the last rites as best I could._

 _How heavy those beads felt in my hands, Jonah…_

 _ **Day 45:**_

 _I have caught up to the procession with little difficulty. They proceed at so leisurely a pace that I would have been at risk of overtaking them altogether. Fortunately, they seem unconcerned with concealing their tracks, and I have tracked their shallow sandal-prints through the dirt with some cleverness on my part._

 _I am reminded of our days with the Junior Scouters. Do you remember those days, Jonah? We strung together wobbling bivouacs out of dead sticks and twine that would hardly have kept out a string of spittle, much less a rainstorm._

 _I am reminded of my own inadequacy with each passing moment, made all the worse by these infuriating simpletons. Not_ _once_ _have they stopped for rest since I have known them. They only seem to eat once every two or three days, and a handful of foraged nuts or berries will do for them. If they are thirsty then they take a swig of foul, brackish water from a puddle and are contented for another day, not a peep of discomfort or distaste on their part._

 _They seem to have an_ _uncanny_ _sense of direction, though. They've walked in perfect right-angles for the last two days, and they only stop for a moment every so often, staring at nothing like…_

 _Like cattle, I suppose._

 _With a compass and a little savvy, I can catch them up quickly enough when I need to stop for sleep._

 _They still pay me no mind, as if I were not there at all. I do not wish to test the theory too closely however…_

 _ **Day 49:**_

 _Jonah, it is the Cassock!_

 _I have not taken it off since that night, and I am convinced it is the reason for my safe passage here._

 _I mentioned before that they are all dressed in sacks of burlap fashioned into rudimentary smocks, and I (as we all have) assumed that it was merely the only form of clothing that they knew how to make…_

 _What if they think I'm one of them?_ _They're such simple creatures I might just believe it…_

 _Why a Cassock, though? Surely even simpler garments could serve just as well?_

 _Perhaps they are more intelligent than they first appear? They carry torches seemingly wrought of brass, and iron knives that look_ _devilishly_ _sharp…_

 _However, they lack even a rudimentary spark of cognizance. They just drift from place to place, observing their pointless little rituals with no seeming knowledge of their significance (actual or imagined…)._

 _Although… I suppose I can't really fault them for that, can I?_

 _I never was a particularly good Evangelist at the best of times, and these days I am having a great deal of difficulty believing the parts of our creed that speak of hope, or virtue, or divinity…_

 _How could Hyne make a world like_ _this_ _and be satisfied with his work?_

 _ **Day 58:**_

 _They have made precious little progress, and their behaviour has become more erratic. They walk along the unnaturally straight paths and periodically stop or twist or step to the side, as if to politely let a fellow traveller past._

 _I watched in shock for more than a minute as they all stood stock-silent in the middle of a field of wild-grass, not a thought crossing those placid brows. After some uncommunicated but_ _very_ _specific amount of time, they all continued they ramble much as before._

 _I had decided to start cataloguing them by name, but they are so difficult to distinguish from one another…_

 _Jonah, I wonder sometimes if I am going quite mad looking at these strange little creatures._

 _No… More than that, I worry that I am no longer angry at them for what they did at the campsite. Some part of my mind tells me that these idiot children simply didn't know what they were doing when they did it._

 _It isn't a good enough excuse._

 _For now, anyway._

 _ **Day 62:**_

 _I believe I've been very foolish indeed, Jonah. I've seen these behaviours every day of my waking life, looking out of the window every morning in the Seminary._

 _When a Tonberry steps to the side, or shuffles away from something, or just plain_ _stops_ _for something that I can't see, I recognise what they're doing._

 _They're walking through a town. Or maybe a city…_

 _The point is, they're seeing the world as I'm sure it looked more that 70 years ago,_ _before the Lunar Cry!_

 _They're stepping aside for towncars! And pedestrians! And railway-gates! Ones that stopped passing through here long before you and I were born, Jonah!_

 _Now I see it, and I feel foolish for not seeing it all along. They're wearing_ _cassocks_ _, Jonah! Not burlap sacks that look like a monk's garb, but the_ _actual article!_

 _They are brainless little priests of Hyne, who after all was a_ _maker of things and beings_ _since time immemorial, was he not?_

 _He made we humans to be his Caretakers, did he not? Tending the garden of his world so that he might sleep, yes? We can all agree on that much, surely? I'm not so pulled into atheism to deny that much…_

 _Could he not have made others to take on other tasks for him? Or perhaps the Tonberry is some abortive ancestor of ours? Some sort of failed prototype that he sealed away when he had no need of it anymore?_

 _For I am convinced that these beings came from_ _below_ _the earth, not above. I'm certain enough of that, at least. The size and set of their yellow eyes, their squatness, their little brass lanterns that cast that sickly light…_

 _I envisage runs and warrens buried deep beneath the crust of the world, so deep that no miner could ever hope to dig down to it. Perhaps Hyne simply left them sealed up in a tomb, crammed in together like sardines but uncomplaining and uncomprehending of their fate…_

 _Were it not for that dreadful Lunar Cry they'd likely have stayed down there forever, but when the moon fell it_ _broke the very shell of the world_ _, Jonah!_

 _Things from far down in the deep would be able to find their way out into the light of day, surely?_

 _ **Day 63:**_

 _I believe that they can see me._

 _Goodbye, Jonah._


End file.
